


Victim of Ritual

by chromaggia (endlesseternities)



Series: Colours In the Dark [1]
Category: Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, Original Work, Red Dragon (2002), The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Age Play, Angst, Ball Gags, Bisexual Female Character, Biting, Bleeding, Blood, Bondage, Choking, Consensual Underage Sex, Cunnilingus, Cutting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Dildos, Dinners, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eva Sabatiér (as played by Eva Green), Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father/Daughter Incest, Fear, Fellatio, First Time, Frustration, Genital Shaving, Genital Torture, High School, Humiliation, Incest, Kissing, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Lies, Light BDSM, Love/Hate, Marceau Sabatiér (as played by Udo Kier), Mental Health Issues, Murder, Narcissism, Nudity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Fixation, Pain, Psychiatric Hospitals, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychology, Rape, Sadism, Schizophrenia, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Sweet Sixteen, Tears, Tension, Tragic Romance, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesseternities/pseuds/chromaggia
Summary: Dr. Chilton is invited to a fellow psychiatrist's mansion, and there he meets the man's daughter, who happens to be renowned in her own way. Set five years before Lecter's 1991 escape.





	1. Desolation

**Author's Note:**

> This is film-based, not NBC-based! This is Chilton as portrayed by my beloved silver fox, Anthony Heald, in the years 1991 and 2002; this is the film version of the character that I'm writing with. I do not own Chilton, Lecter, Barney, the places, things, films or story lines. I only own the character of Eva Sabatiér and her story and characteristics. The rest belongs to Thomas Harris and Jonathan Demme (RIP), and this is obviously not written for profit. 
> 
> This fanfiction is set to the song "Victim of Ritual" by Finnish soprano, Tarja Turunen.
> 
> The face claims for Eva and Marceau Sabatiér are Eva Green and Udo Kier in an aesthetic manner. 
> 
> Note: I am still the rightful owner of this fanfiction. I just went from madamemichaela to endlesseternities and chromaggia.

**\--Baltimore, 1986--**

  
The house in which we moved into seemed droll, blank even. From the outside, it appeared to be  
a complete baronial castle. Papa had purchased the house upon our arrival to America, and he had  
paid a fair amount of money for it. It was a mansion, in all honesty, and the colours of dark bluegreen  
paint were glossy; panels and fashioned carvings were elegantly Victorian, and the tiles of  
the roof were dark grey, appearing in scales. I found it to be rather grotesque.

  
Inside, the parlour was massively wide, and the ceiling over twenty-feet high. There was a grand  
staircase that led upward and split into two sides, one stair leading to the master half of the house,  
while the other was dark, secluded. Papa had acquired the service of the moving men, and so our  
furniture, silverware, clothing, everything had been brought in with just ease.

  
As for me, my bedroom was large enough to suite a couple, and the bed was queen-sized. The  
bedding was dark-red, embroidered with black design around the frills and edges; the pillowcases  
matched the bedding, except these were decorated atop with fresh rose petals. It was odd, but I  
enjoyed the smell that it gave my room. The rest of the house smelled ancient.

  
Just as I sat down in front of my silver-framed, oval mirror, that sat prompt atop my black writer's  
desk, I heard my father call for me. I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

  
"Eva! Come downstairs, chére," he cried.

  
I hated him so for bring us here, to this desolate speck called America. He hadn't the gall to stay in  
Paris after what happened with my mother. It was only opportune that he had moved us away  
from my beloved France, and how I hated him; he was useless when it came to pleasing me. He  
had been so down on his luck, but now that we were here, in this city of Baltimore, I felt despair  
and utter rejection. I wanted to return back to Paris and live out all my days there.  
Nevertheless, I knew I had to go downstairs and put on a resplendent face.

  
"Coming, Papa!"

  
In my black-leather heels, I allowed myself to flutter down the steps as if I were feather-light. I  
held onto my short dress and motioned it around as if I were a little girl. My father stood there at  
the foot of the staircase, smoking a cigar and overseeing the movers bring the last of our things in.  
I stood on the bottom step, and he came over to me then, pecking both my cheeks.

  
The smell of his roughly-packed cigar was disgusting. It was bitter, brutal and above all, without  
taste. Its scent stayed on my face, particularily in my nostrils. I wanted to vomit at the smell, but I  
kept my posture in tact. In an act, I put a smile on my face and pretended to be happy, when really  
the sight of everything annoyed me. Just as I did that, Papa spoke again.

  
"Eva, sweetheart," he began. "We are going to be having a few guests over tonight, so look your  
best, hmm? It'll be very important. These people are to be Papa's new employers."

  
The very thought of this dinner made me bored.

  
How typical it was of Papa to invite others over, when we'd barely finished moving our things in.  
Per the norm, I nodded. I didn't want him to think that Baltimore made me superficial and tedious,  
when truly it already had; still, I kept the amused daughter alive in his presence and just for this  
moment. He brushed my hair behind my ear and inwardly, I cringed at his touch.  
moment. 

  
"Oui, Papa," I said, aloud with fervent poise, "I know just what to wear."

  
\--

  
I liked to take a few hours to prepare myself, just as any young woman did.  
For the first few minutes, I had showered and dried off, pampering myself under my arms,  
between my legs and around my breasts. I lightly powdered my nose and curled the ends of my  
black hair. It was so casual, so boring the new style of hair that these American girls had, and for  
the deviant woman in me, I decided to set myself apart from them all of their looks.

  
With the antique wardrobe I had, I opened it up and brushed a hand against all the fine, expensive  
gowns Papa had spoiled me with back in France. A few were dark blue, embedded in the finest  
silk, while the others--- my absolute favorites--- were fashioned black, riddled with fine accents of  
mahogany to blood-red. The one gown I loved most of all was sleeveless, with a low-cut bodice,  
and it flowed perfectly. It had a dark-red sash across the black top, which looked, when trailing  
past the sash, as if it was black ink seeping into the colour of fresh blood.

  
It was a dress fit for one of Poe's ill-fated heroines, the poor Ligeia, and how I marveled at its  
beauty; when truly I hadn't the knack for poetry as a child, I found dressing as the love-lost girl  
made me feel exquisite, made me feel oh-so-powerful. Papa never thought much about Poe's  
work, and how I hated him for it. The man I called father had no sense of taste at all. Still, I  
slipped on my strapless bra that I had custom-made, as well as the panties that followed.

  
I am a femme fatale, I thought to myself. A femme fatale perfect and beautiful enough to fuck the  
world, to fuck each man who dare to near her, to subdue and worship her as if she cares.

  
Oh, how Papa would redden at my language!

  
I marveled at the girl in the mirror, and I swayed my hips, to and fro, side to side as I laughed. To  
my eyes, any man would want me. Here I was, a young, foreign beauty, trapped in a sad,  
indistinctive piece of America, lost without a proper guide, without a proper teacher. If I played  
my cards right, I could potentially find someone to make my slave, to make my own and call  
'father,' in place of the hypocrite that had given himself to my mother, a slut who'd remarried.  
Perhaps that I would follow in her place.

  
Perhaps I would flash my breasts, unsheath my soft pussy and make a wondrous example of  
myself; the whole world at my feet and all for this--- a show of flesh, a theatre of blood, of bone  
and vein. The very thought of myself being owned by a man made me weep, so much that I  
started to see my tears cleanse my cheeks. I wrapped my fingers in my hair and I wept happily.

  
Then the chime of the grandfather clock entered my ears, and I heard its ancient ringing, tick with  
a tock, just as its large hand struck on the nine. The guests would arrive at any minute, this I knew,  
and so, I raced back into my bathroom to restock my face with the adequate, appropriate amount  
of makeup. The brushes swept, the tears gone, and damn, I was good.

  
\--

  
Nine-thirty came and the first of Baltimore's top psychiatric directors entered. I, being the proper  
hostess, stood at the door, opening it and catching sight of all those who came in. Most were  
lowly-looking men who hadn't good looks upon them at all; most wore those abominable thickframed,  
black glasses and were balding, while two others were women dressed as if they had  
stocked up in old family antiquities. I, amongst the droll and boring, was the only one full of life  
apparently. Papa ushered them into the dining room and seated them.

  
"Bonjour, one and all," he proudly said, his accent unwavering. "Welcome to my house."

  
And for the next half hour, we all sat and talked, ate and drank; the food was delicious, as we had  
brought our private executive chef Leroux with us. We had fanciful cuisines prepared, and we  
served them with a white zinfindel wine. The expressions on my face were merely from the  
delicacies of the food, and I wondered if these people knew how elaborate my persona was.

  
I wasn't in the faction of liking people unless they had some kind of similar thinking, or if they  
were designed with poise, grace and distinctive mystery. Papa looked at me across the table and  
saw how tediously aggravated I had become. He shot me a glance that signaled for me to  
'promptly behave.' I refused. I was no longer a little girl and thus, I had the knack to say as to  
those I would like and to those that I wouldn't like. He couldn't control me, and he knew this.

  
"Well," a man said, breaking the silence, "this was a very excellent dinner, Dr. Sabatiér. I only  
hope that your food doesn't contain any kind of secretive ingredients. Oh, if you had been here for  
that trial with Lecter, you would have turned white from horror! That man is a beast!"

  
I arched my brow at the mentioning of Lecter. I had heard many things over in France, things  
from the newspapers and American-printed articles we received. The man was a cannibal, and he  
had used his suave cunning to serve an awful, lamentable flute player to his own dinner party.

  
While most people, like Papa and his 'esteemed' associates, would have found this man disgusting,  
I found him to be most intriguing, though I'd never say it in front of them aloud.

  
"Mon Dieu! Did he really serve a human being at his table?" Papa inquired.

  
"Quite right," the same man said, "and now, he's serving executive life sentences at the Baltimore  
State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, which is run by that idiot Frederick Chilton and his staff  
of frightened men. As to how Lecter can stand being civil to Chilton is beyond me. That man  
couldn't even tell the difference between neuropathy and surgery if you ask me."

  
The smell of the fresh vol au vents came into the dining room then, but that didn't stop me from  
thinking about the incidents. While each guest took one, I happened to smile, speaking aloud.

  
"Monsieur," I began. "Is it true that Dr. Lecter carved up Raspail and served him amongst a  
favorable Hungarian goulash? Or was it a different recipe? If so, do you think he keeps the recipe in his mind?"

  
One of the women spat out her wine and started coughing. The directors looked at me as if I were  
mad, and then back to my father, whose face was now red with both anger and utter  
embarrassment. I quirked a brow and sat back against the arm of my chair, reeling the other one to  
hang over the side playfully as I sipped at my glass of zinfandel. Papa was frightfully scared.

  
He stood up and in a nervous heap, began to wring his hands as he spoke. "I apologize, everyone.  
My daughter isn't accustomed to being silent. She's so damnably curious and hasn't been able to  
be neutral since she was a girl. Please, I hope you accept my deepest apologies."

  
Not only did everyone stop drinking, they also stopped eating. I had done my part fairly well as I  
imagined, and so, they all nodded and promptly stood up, same as I did. I excused myself from the  
table and made my way to the door. I held it open and watched as they scattered to the four winds,  
like frightened little children who had just made a terrible mistake of entering a haunted house. I  
took my handkerchief and wiped off my lipstick, smirking as I shut the door.

  
\--

  
"Eva, how could you embarrass me like that!"

  
I threw my shoes onto my bed and unraveled my hair. It fell in heavy waves over my shoulders,  
and instantly, I began to brush it as I sat at my desk. Papa's reflection looked like an angry ghost,  
and I had to chuckle. He was huffing, redder than ever, and he held his hips in his hands,  
squeezing them as to crinkle the fabric. I looked at him in the glass and smiled.

  
"Honestly, Papa--- I was only giving them a show."

  
He slammed his hand down on my nearby dresser. "You embarrassed me! You made me look like  
an idiot with an insane daughter! Do you realize, Eva, that they'd lock you away for even talking  
like that? That your fascination with madmen and deviants makes you look mad?"

  
I had to arch a brow in disbelief.

  
Like a film starlet from a thirties' picture, I slung my arm over the back of my chair and crossed  
my leg over the other, just as I tapped the brush against my arm. He was acting like a child, and if  
there was another thing that annoyed me, it was a man acting like a prepubescent little boy.

  
"Papa, you and those men, women have all been studying people like Lecter for years. You pick  
and deprive their brains of information, and then try to sort it all out through little boring sessions  
and research gimmicks. Honestly, you're overreacting. It was only simple little talk."

  
"Eva, that's not the point! Those people are to be my employers! You bluntly dissected them and  
made them feel uncomfortable, while putting on that little face that says 'I-am-only-so-innocent.'  
Those people probably think that you are unhinged," he said, tapping his temple as show. "And  
how do you think that makes us look?"

  
In an instant retort, I fashioned a smile and said, "It makes me look curiously insane, and you, well  
it just makes you look like a scared little girl who's afraid of his own shadow, that's what."

  
I hadn't even the chance to move my face away before he lunged. Papa's hand contacted the side  
of my face, and instantly, I felt the warmth of my blood boiling. There was an acute sting in my  
jaw, in my bones, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, there was already a red mark  
swelling. Consequently, there was blood. It tinkled from the side of my mouth, and so, I licked it away.

The taste of sanguine was beautiful, and as Papa walked away, I had to laugh at him.


	2. Virgin's Resolve

There was a gentle mark of purple-blue on my jaw, and softly, the battered flesh tender enough to  
show the protruding little welt. It hadn't been the first time Papa had abused me, but I was certain  
that it wasn't to be the last time either. But it was no matter. In just three years time, I would be an  
adult of unriddled passions. And of course, my sixteenth birthday was only next week already,  
and Papa, in a plot to win back my trust, had invited all of Baltimore to our door.

  
He had ordered the red roses, had customized the house to my liking and so, it would appear as if  
Poe himself had come back to life, if only to grace our presence with his sense of décor.  
I laughed outward at the thought, and as I sat down at my table again, this time in the nude, I  
brushed my hair until it felt like silk. The blackness of its waves fell down my shoulder and as I  
moved it back behind my shoulders, I looked like a fleshed version of the dark, beautiful Ligeia.

  
To a man's eyes, my breasts were large, swollen; my nipples were huge, flat and utterly peach-pink  
sitting among my chest so ready to be tweezed, to be abused. I stood up further to illustrate  
the sight of my body, and I eyed the young girl standing there, whose womanhood was now  
pronounced, the chocolate-brown curls swept against her clitoris, contrasted to pink.

  
I was a ripe fifteen and dying--- _oh, no, explicitly aching_ \--- to be fucked.

  
For my sixteenth I wanted a man to fall into my lap, to prowl his way to me and beg me, on his  
hands and knees, to become his; I wanted a different kind of father, one who could teach me the  
ways of the world whilst making me a slave to his lascivious cock. That was what I wanted for  
my birthday. I didn't want a little boy who thought of nothing but sex, I wanted a man who'd  
show me how it was to be taken care of, how it would be to lie down beside only him.

  
And how I imagined being taken!

  
To have my legs pulled apart, my panties ripped and my breasts bruised; all to become pliant and  
willing to be fucked ruthlessly, to be shuddered and abused. Yes, I could imagine my lips and  
tongue around a big, fat swollen cock, glistening with beads of white pearls for as long as a man  
could provide them. That was the only kind of jewel I truly wanted: a necklace of fluid.

  
\--

  
Papa later called me down and I had no choice but to comply, to go downstairs and pretend  
myself to be the dutiful daughter. I could sense he was still angered with me about last week's little  
transition of words, but I did not and could not care less. He, on the other hand, gave me a feigned  
look that pretended that he was happy. Fortunately for me, I could tell a true lie.

  
"Hello, daughter..."

  
I simply walked past him and continued towards the dining room, again. Leroux had prepared a  
new kind of cuisine, one he had made from his own recipe, and how I adored it. The cream of the  
alfredo sauce, combined with the flavor of the seared shrimp-bruleé made dinner that much more  
enjoyable. I sipped at a glass of red cabernet, drinking as if I were the Impaler.

  
Papa sat across from me again on the end of the table, and eyed how I slowly drank at all my  
succulent wine. His brown eyes never distilled from gazing over me, and I supposed, he'd be  
wanting to keep a close watch on me, considering him that I embarassed him in front of his  
betters. When he clapped at his mouth with his napkin, I decided to make a little conversation.

  
"So," I began. "Tell me, Papa--- how many of these Baltimore people are coming to the gala?"

  
He almost coughed on the bruleé. "What?"

  
Twisting my fork in the tenderized pasta, I spoke louder, more confidently. "To my birthday gala.  
How many people from this little spit of a city are coming?"

Of course, I knew how many was coming, but I wanted to know who was to enter my house, to  
join in on the anniversary of my birth. I had guessed that he invited the finest doctors, surgeons  
and what have you as well, but what if I wanted to invite someone?

  
Didn't I have the right to say who could attend, too?

  
Finally, after clearing his throat with a glass of water, Papa answered, "A fair few."

  
"How many is considered to be a 'fair few'?"

  
Now he was irritated--- truly irritated! The veins on his temples were showing, and inwardly, I  
laughed, giggled to myself as his face turned helplessly red. I sipped at my wine further and  
waited for his response. Instead, he calmed himself and put on a different face.

  
"Eva, ma chére, you can do whatever your little heart desires. I suppose you can invite whomever  
you wish, but then again--- that would actually require you to know people outside of France,  
would it not?"

  
Ah, now he was trying to strike back!

  
I flashed an indefinite smirk and lowered my eyes, the light of the candles catching their flare,  
illuminating what hatred I had for him within my irises. I hadn't cared for him in the slightest, at  
least since Sophie-Marie died and Mother abandoned him. Or did he leave her? I couldn't quite  
remember. It was just so brief, it was. Still, I suppose time passes too fast when one is pathetic.

  
But as I remembered the conversation that we held last week, the name of Chilton rang a bell. I  
had wondered about him, and since moving here, I'd discovered what he looked like from afar. He  
seemed to be only one inch taller than me, with broad shoulders and a distinctive jaw; his eyes  
were cold and calculating, a river's blue, and the waves in his brownish-grey hair sent me over the  
edge with frenzy, with lust. Truly, even from a distance, he seemed to be so perfect.

  
"Dr. Chilton, then," I said. "Let me invite him at least. He's one of the many men we didn't get to  
meet last week, and I wanted to apologize for my behavior. To you, to the directors..."

  
Papa alone seemed convinced of my act. His face lit up and then, he rose his glass of champagne  
to me, as he made a conventional toast in my honor. His brown eyes clashed with the sight of  
mine, and I knew then that I had won. He was such an insignificant fool, and I, the young papess,  
was queen of my tricks. As he drank from his glass, Leroux flashed me a smile.

  
He wasn't my type in the slightest, and so I dismissed him. With a flick of my hand, he took our  
dishes and went back into the kitchen. The look on his face seemed distant. He was too plain, too  
young for me, and I wanted nothing more than to be rid of his presence; though if I did that, I'd  
mourn his cooking. So, he would have to stay, though I didn't want him near me at all.

  
\--

  
Papa retired to bed early, as did I.

  
However, I didn't go to sleep right away.

  
I sat again on my bed and this time, with an old-fashioned quill, ink and paper, began to write in  
my diary of what transpired. I, however, would never write of the girlish things that most did, such  
as the way they had their nails done and all that. No, I wrote of all my fantasies.

  
I wrote of how I longed to fuck this man I'd only seen, and of how I wanted him to make me his  
little pet, his little whore, and of how I longed to make him mine. My tongue traced my lips and I  
shuddered in thought of him. My skin went tremulous and became riddled with gooseflesh.

  
"Such a beautiful creature he is," I wrote. "He's a psychiatrist from what I hear, and how  
interesting it would be for him to psychoanalyze me. Though truly, I don't know if he's up to the  
test. If he is, what a little game we'd play. I'd love to show him all of my internal wounds."

  
\--

  
The roses sat prompt and fresh in the purple-and-silver vases, and while I liked their scent,  
something was missing. I searched around the house and saw that there was no true kind of  
sensuality to the place. There was nothing but boring pictures of old farmhouses, and I knew then  
that it wouldn't do. No, this called for drastic measures. I needed some art in the house.

  
While Papa was away working, tending to the fragile minds of the weaker links, I decided to go  
out for a little while and see what kind of things lay in the folds of the city's underbelly. I looked  
up and down for every little piece of Renassiance art I could find, and surprisingly, I found so  
much for such a little cost. There were lovely pieces of marble, posed in vast nudity.

  
I had them brought back to the house and arranged in the places I sought fit.

  
The men put each statue in the corners I decided needed some light or uplift, and the poses of each  
piece seemed to be worthy of their decency. I had a vast, seven-foot-tall statue of the goddess  
Aphrodite posed at the top of the staircase; she was naked in all her glory and she was pointing  
both ways to either side of the stairs. Her pubis was covered by a gentle leaf, and I laughed. For  
such a beauty, she sure seemed shy. I, however, had no shame whatsoever.

  
\--

  
The gown I had ordered was one of special magnificence.

  
It was almost the same design at the dress I'd wore at the first dinner party, but now, this one was  
prettier; it had glittering designs of red rubies at the top of the plunging décolleté, which would  
make the ivory of my bulging breasts seem so surreal, so smooth in all their nature.

  
There was a sash, same as the last one, though this one was hanging off the front in entwined  
strings, each one wrapped around the other like two fine curls. It was also decorated with  
bountiful rubies. The dress itself was pure black, with a cathedral-length train, and it appeared as if  
I would be drowning in satin, or an ocean of deep darkness. I was fine with either image.

It shocked Papa though when he saw it for the first time. It was 'too revealing,' he thought. I said  
to hell with him in my mind, as I knew him to be a shy bastard. He'd never say anything to a  
woman when she was 'exposed,' unless he thought he had a decent chance of bedding her in the  
same night. I knew my mother was promiscious but it never stopped her from using her talents of  
seduction and whoring. No, I was glad to be like my mother, no matter what the cost.

  
\--

  
" _Diary,_

  
_I want this sixteenth birthday to be the very best. I want to be seen, want to be shown off to the_  
_highest bidder as if I'm at auction. I'm fairly young and almost a woman, but the pain between my_  
_legs still aches. There's a deep spot down there that hurts like hell, and I want someone to rip me_  
_open to bleed, to take my hymen as his prize and fuck me senseless._

  
_"If there's anyone I'd give it to, it'd be the mystery shrink I'm yearning for. Most of the directors_  
_say he's an idiot, but I will be the judge of that. From what I've seen of him, passing his place of_  
_work whilst on the way to school, I'd say he's at least seven or eight inches._

  
_I think about his cock, my dear diary, and wonder if he'd let loose inside me, to pretend a child._  
_But I want him--- I want to suck him dry, fuck him into oblivion and call him mine._

  
_Oh yes, I want this birthday to be the best. After all, isn't it called a 'sweet sixteen'?_

  
_Perhaps when Papa's not looking, I'll slip under the table and play with that man's cock and tame_  
_it; maybe I'll lick the tip, that little slit I've read about, and maybe milk him later that night with my_  
_virginal pussy. To feel his warm cum plunge into me will be the greatest little feeling, I can tell._

  
_It'll feel so fucking good to feel him slapping against my ass._

  
_Some of the girls say that there's pain the first time, but what's love without a little of it on a day-to-day_  
_basis? Oh, diary--- the possibilities are completely endless!"_

  
_And how I could picture my father cringing at my thoughts if he ever read this!_

  
_Yet deep down, I knew that when Sophie-Marie and I were born together, that I would be the_  
_deviant, the defiant one. If my poor sister had lived past six, perhaps I could have taught her so_  
_much. Perhaps then the dead would finally reach their resolve when I'd finally learn to live._


	3. Of Roses and Hunger

The evening of the gala had arrived more quickly than I'd anticipated.

  
It was only a few short hours until the guests would arrive, but only one problem: while the  
invitations had been sent out, I noticed that the 'good doctor' up at the psychiatric hospital hadn't  
received one. He'd been on the list after all, and I was wondered that if Papa was trying not to  
embarrass the directors with 'that one.' Still, to have the man come close was so pleasing.

  
\--

  
Leroux drove me to the hospital whereas I stepped out of the car and onto its steps.  
It was a tall, drastic-looking building, one that had numerous windows and aged bricks holding its  
foundation up and in place; there was a tall tower in which sat a light and a bell, and I deduced  
that it once was a school before becoming a housing department for the criminally insane. Its top  
windows, four in count, seemed barely polished and the details of the copper-coloured brick  
seemed aged, withered from all its years of servitude to the harshest weather.

  
To my satisfaction, I found the place somehow appealing to my senses.

  
It seemed perfect for its purpose, and so, I walked up the cold concrete steps, knocking hard and  
loud on the front door. An African-American man of proper stature came up to the door, and he  
opened it, looking me up and down in my black ladies' trench coat to see who I was.

  
The man asked, "Do you have an appointment to see Dr. Chilton?"

  
I answered truthfully. "No, but I'm here to ask him something nonetheless."

  
He shook his head and began to close the door, saying, "Sorry, ma'am, but I just can't let you see  
the boss without proper reason. It's against hospital policy and public safety protocol."

  
With my foot, I caught the door and prevented it from shutting all the way. I was irritable at this  
policy, but perhaps he could do something for me. I unsheathed the invitation from my pocket and  
passed it to the man, who I came to know as Barney Matthews, from the sight of his tag, hoping  
he'd put it through. I bat my eyes like a little girl and tried to appeal to him.

  
"Please, Mr. Matthews," I said, my voice tender. "Can you give this to him at least?"

  
He huffed once and shrugged his shoulders downward. He nodded and took the envelope. As I  
removed my foot from the door, he said, "Just stay here. I'll see if he's available."

  
In return, I nodded and gave him confirmation that I wasn't going anywhere.

  
The door shut and in the brisk cold, I waited. It seemed to be for an eternity, but really, it had only  
been fifteen minutes when he'd returned. I was ushered in then by Barney, and he took my coat.  
In a stride, we walked to the main office, and inside, there he was, sitting there with the smug look  
I'd seen on his face before. And to me, he was intriguing. The door shut as well.

  
Sitting in his chair, I eyed how he wore an awful checked suit, complete with a mismatched red tie  
with small dots; his hair was in that casual business look, combed up front and slicked to the side.  
He held a gold pen in his fingers, and on his lips, he looked like a model for a Playgirl magazine.  
His eyes, those soft blues I'd imagined, seemed to be vexed entirely on me.

  
"Barney said you wanted to see me, Miss...?"

  
"Sabatiér."

  
"I see," he said. "It says here on this little invitation that you're throwing a gala and that you'd like  
me to join you for the evening. Excuse me for being blunt, but why should I go to a gala? You do  
understand that I have important business to attend to, right?"

  
"But of course! I just thought that you would maybe like to get away for a while, seeing as you  
probably don't even leave this place enough to enjoy yourself... once in a while."

  
Chilton's eyes became dangerously dark as he closed them halfway. Finally, I'd sparked a reaction  
out of him! Perhaps I'd gone too far with the closed-in remarks of self-pleasure, but I'd never seen  
a pair of eyes become so hungry to shun me with a disappointed look before.

  
"Miss Sabatiér..."

  
"Yes, Dr. Chilton?"

  
He finally took the golden pen from his mouth and flicked it fast, back and forth in a continuous  
motion that looked out of control. He stood up and walked over to me, and I had to admit: I was a  
little scared of what he was going to do. My womb quivered and I wondered if this was how  
dominating a man could really be, even without engaging in sexual contact at the time.

  
He was face-to-face with me and I shivered. Our mouths were only a few inches from each other's  
faces, and when he took my wrist in his hand, he rose it up, higher and higher, just until the faint  
lightweight of the envelope fell into my palm. Chilton's eyes seemed up for the task.

  
"Very well. I'll be sure to come around seven-thirty. Now, Barney will see you out."

  
The minute he said that, the door opened and in walked the orderly.

  
Barney returned my coat to me and ushered me outside, while Chilton's eyes, as I could attest to,  
watched the shape of my ass walk out his door. The smell of the office remained in my nostrils,  
and as I'd predicted, I could smell something distinct from before: it was a combination of  
aftershave and that late aroma of ejaculate. So therefore, I'd called his bluff, fair and square.

  
\--

  
"Eva! The guests are arriving!"

  
Instantly, I went to my bedroom door and threw it open. Lifting the front of my dress, I brought  
the hem over my feet and went to the top of the stairs, with ease, with poise as if I were a countess  
about to attend a dark and delicious banquet. My feet walked down the stairs and I arrived at the  
edge, where Papa stood with a pair of abhorred eyes. As usual, he chastised me for what I wore.

  
"Eva, your gown--- the cut is too low."

  
I paid no heed to him. Instead, I walked to the front door and watched as others came to the front  
step. When I opened the door, the same directors walked in and shot me glares of mistrust. I  
pursed a smile and pretended to be the dutiful hostess.

"Bonjour," I said.

  
The men walked in with their wives, their eyes circulating around me. I supposed my dress was  
perfect in its manner, hence the reason why they couldn't look away. Most of the women perhaps  
thought me to be a whore, but I didn't care. I'd have my fill of life before I'd wither.

  
\--

  
The vol au vents were served with ease, and we had the shrimp-bruleé put promptly onto the table  
that sat in the dining area. The cuisines from all around my beloved country were served too, and I  
saw how greedily everyone ate, serving themselves by piling their plates high.

  
I was drinking my usual glass of Bordeaux when someone asked me to dance. It was a tedious  
little man, a director from the board, and I rejected him outright. He had given me his hand before,  
but I swept him away with a wave of my hand, much like I had with Leroux. I looked past my  
shoulder and saw the grandfather clock sitting there with a grim perception.

  
It was almost seven-thirty, and the psychiatrist I'd personally invited was nowhere to be seen.

  
I was utterly enraged.

  
I was more than infuriated, and when I went to the restroom of my house, I saw two headlights  
coming up the driveway. When I looked out of the window, I saw the black Mercedes revving out  
of its warmth as it finally turned off. The door opened and I could barely see who it was.

  
In a quick flash, I finished with my business and powdered my nose. I lifted my dress and ran out  
of the restroom, flowing down the staircase towards the door once again. There was a knocking  
rhythm, and when I turned the knob, I thrust the door open and there he was. He was standing  
there in an awful checked suit, the colour of grey and black, while he wore a tie that was dark  
purple with white dots. I wanted to laugh aloud, but I was now happy.

  
"Do come in, Dr. Chilton," I whispered.

  
"Let's hurry along," he immediately said. "I have important things to get back to."

I arched a brow and smirked. "That I highly doubt, monsieur."

  
When he walked in, I took his coat and offered him my arm. He seemed resistant, as if he was not  
sure whether or not he would look good beside me. I did not hesitate, however, and I took his arm  
in mine anyway. It was so warm next to him, and when I walked him into the dining area, the  
look on each face ranged from shock to appalled. Still, I found that it was worth it.

  
Papa had found us then when I fetched my guest a drink and said, "Is this Dr. Chilton?"

  
I nodded and clutched onto my guest's arm still. Chilton seemed resistant, until Papa asked who he  
was and when I acknowledged the name. His face became smitten with a smug smirk.

  
"Well," he hesitated, "I suppose the guests are all here then."

  
"Oui, Papa," I said, like a songbird, "I believe it's time for the announcement."

  
\--

  
Clinking his glass, Papa rose it high and stood beside me, Chilton and every other who had  
attended. It seemed like a ritual, with the guest hovering around only as unmasked practicioners of  
the darkest magic. I was the papess, and Chilton, my hermit. Papa, however, as he spoke in  
mumbled English, I deduced him as being the classical fool, which he always was.

I gripped onto Chilton's arm a little tighter, but not with brute force. Contrary, I could see his eyes  
roving over my breasts; I could sense his breath on my nape and exquisitely, I could picture him  
swelling in his checked trousers. Oh, but to feel him inside me would be wondrous, illicit and  
impure, but it was the thrill of being caught that kept my hunger for him so awake.

  
"And now, for my daughter," Papa said, catching my attention. "Happy sixteenth, my sweet."

  
My heart went red with blood and power. In each one of my veins, the warmth circulated and  
pretended fever, as I felt how strong the heat was from within. Chilton unclasped my arm and  
began to clap, which started a strange following in our midst. The others clapped too, and I knew  
then, that I would become the black heart of Baltimore, clashing tears with souls too well.

  
I could honestly say that I hadn't expected this.

  
But now, I wanted more, I wanted to feel this man inside me. Deep down, I felt an urge to tell him  
how badly I wanted him to take me, to make me his own and claim the prize between my legs.  
Perhaps I'd call it my diamond in the rough, but then again, wouldn't it be an actual ruby?

  
In a daze, I acted as the honored little girl.

  
While Papa walked around to talk to the other guests, I, on the other hand, led Chilton away into  
the lower corridors, where I knew it was dark. He followed me like an eager child, and I supposed  
this would be the beginning. I hadn't clasped his hand at all, but I could still feel it.


	4. Flesh and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Disclaimer: There will be sexual themes (such as oral sex and genital touching) in this chapter!  
> Read at your own risk; this involves a minor having sexual contact with an adult. I don't  
> encourage this behavior-- this is only a story, used for plot! Still, read with care!]

"So, is Lecter really the madman everyone's portrayed him to be?"

  
I supposed it was a tedious question, but I was curious-- so damnably curious. Chilton held onto  
his glass of scotch, which I'd gotten for him before we entered the corridor, and he pursed his lips,  
thinking I might be leading him along. He caught sight of my eyes with his own, and I felt a  
strange mixture of desire and disgust rolled together in his soft, blue irises.

  
"Lecter is the most prized asset in my entire hospital, and yet he's simply impenetrable to  
psychological testing. He despises me and my staff no doubt, and my, does he hate us! He thinks  
I'm his nemesis."

  
I had to give him complimentary looks at his bravery to denounce Lecter; after all, with his  
swagger, I felt the inward ability to laugh and yet remain completely docile in sight. He sipped at  
his scotch and swallowed it keenly, while I watched his Adam's apple rise high and then low. It's  
such a decent throat, I thought to myself. And how wonderful it would be to hurt it.

  
And so, with the arising hormones in my bloodstream, I took Chilton by the hand and began to  
pull him away from the gala. It was nearing 10:35 P.M, and I knew I had to attempt something in  
order to leave a favorable impression. We walked around the corner and towards the second  
largest bedroom, one which Papa kept clean and arranged for guests in case we had any over.

  
Halfway down the hall, Chilton spoke low, "Are you completely mad?"

  
I looked behind my shoulder and softly said, "Well, you may have to analyze me, Dr. Chilton,  
because I'm not telling you."

  
At first, I thought he'd be resistant, but instead, he was the one who was now pushing me towards  
the door, the glass of Scotch now emptied in a brisk attempt to open the door. Thankfully, once I  
reached it with my back, I found the knob and turned it; we both fell backward onto the bed, but  
not before Chilton grabbed the door and thrust it shut gently, as not to make a sound. Eagerly, I  
waited. Chilton, however, grabbed me hard and kissed me deep.

  
\--

  
When he lay me down on the bed, I was in nothing but my bra and panties. I was completely  
devoid of clothing, save for what I had on. He kissed me over and over, and when I rose my leg  
over his hip, he pressed his groin down against my mound and I felt his erection growing.

  
"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so small."

  
I didn't know whether he meant that as good or bad, but I didn't care. To tease him further, I  
motioned my hips against his groin, over and over, up and down in a continous motion. With one  
hand, he gripped my throat and tore the right strap of my bra; it fell onto the floor and then my  
breast was indefintely exposed. My nipple was shaded by the blue moonlight and the dark.

  
Like a predator, Chilton didn't wait any longer and he lunged downward, biting my nipple, the  
whole of his mouth encasing it; the tip of his tongue licked at my tip, and I whimpered at the touch  
of his breath. It was hot, it was fervent; my pussy went so warm and the heat of my body joined  
with his. His teeth grazed my flesh as well, and then I felt a deep, stinging pain.

  
"Please," I shuddered. "Please, please, touch me more. I want to feel you."

  
He caught my throat again and squeezed a little harder, to the point where I could breathe only a  
little. He didn't want to cut off my circulation or kill me, but fuck--- I wanted to feel him hurt me  
all over. In an instant, he cocked his head up and tore his teeth from my nipple. Chilton's eyes  
roved all across my body. He shook his head and instead slid down my body till he was on the  
floor, kneeling. With both hands, he grabbed my panties and tore them off with ease.

  
"Oh, no," he said to me. "I have something better. Now, spread your legs."

  
I did as he asked. In my defense, I had cut off my curls and shaved myself clean beforehand, as I  
knew that something would transpire. He dove his hand between my legs and inserted two fingers  
into my pussy. I felt the length deepen until he reached that nub, and with his thumb, he circled it  
round and round on my clit, making me see stars. With a complete, fast rhythm, he moved both  
fingers in and out of me, side to side as he slightly curled them inside me.

  
It was rising, the pleasure was; with his lips now descending my clit, the tip of his tongue latched  
itself onto the hood of my tender flesh. I threw my head back and felt him go faster with his  
tongue, licking and sucking. Tears were welling in my eyes. I knew I was also so sensitive when  
touching myself, but now that he was doing it, my pussy wanted to feel more pleasure and more  
pain. I tweezed my nipples and shook, my legs trembling.

  
"Please," I cried again. "Please fuck me. It hurts and I want to feel you."

  
He left my pussy and looked up at me, while removing his fingers; they were glazed in fluid, and I  
immediately blushed. Chilton drew them to his mouth and he licked them clean. I looked away but  
with a twist, he made me look at him. I shuddered and he gleamed. He was so fucking good at  
what he was doing, and how I envied his talent. Still, I wanted to feel him inside me.

  
"Not yet," he said. "I'll fuck you, be sure of that, but not right now. It's still too early."

  
Now I was flustered with anger. I bat his hand away and lunged at him, pulling him up onto my  
bed; he was surprised with my strength and when I straddled him, he sat up in return and kissed  
my breasts, licking and biting them rough. I saw bruises from minutes before, and the dark spots  
flashed bluish-purple colours. My clit was aching and I threw him down, pinning him. My hands  
caught his wrists and he lay on the bed, his body completely wanton beneath.

  
Hungrily, I spoke with a kiss. "It's my turn to taste you."

  
\--

  
In a faint second, I darted down his length and began to undo those awful checked trousers he  
wore as a part of his suit. He groaned as I released him, and when I undid the belt and unzipped  
his fly, I felt the warmth of his growing appendage against the hollow of my throat.

  
I ripped down his boxers without hesitation. He was as thick and full as I'd imagined, and that  
made me adore him more; he was eight inches long, thick and full of volume, and the tip--- that  
lush cap of flesh-- was so wet with pre-ejaculate that I wanted to lick it all and suck him deeply.

  
And before I descended on his cock, he rushed his fingers through my hair and brushed his thumb  
on my cheek. I loved this attention, and as he stroked me, I kissed the tip of his cock and breathed  
lightly on it, which caused his whole shaft to throb in my hand; I felt his veins pulsate against my  
palm. He was as eager as me, and I then let my tongue trace his little slit.

  
"Judging from what... I've seen, you seem to be an eager little slut."

  
My pussy shivered.

  
 _I'm going to be your slut_ , I thought again. _I'm going to be yours and no one else's. You see this_  
 _down here, this little thing you've been fucking with your fingers? It's yours. It's yours and I want_  
 _you to hurt it. I want you to fuck me and bruise me until we're both lying dead_.

  
"Good," I replied. "Then let me show you how badly I want to be your little whore."

  
"Now just--- Oh, fuck!"

  
I enveloped his cock in my mouth and began to suck. I knew he'd say to be careful with my teeth,  
so I lightly, very gently raked his shaft, and at the same time, sucked him hard. He threw his head  
back and he pushed my head down on his cock, right till the moment when I almost choked. With  
each time I suckled, he thrust his hips against my face until I was hidden.

  
His tip hit the back of my throat at break-neck speed, but thankfully, I was able to keep it up. I  
complied with the way he thrust his cock into my mouth, and before he was about to come, I  
happened to fondle his balls. They sat firm in my palm, and I groped them, once hard, but then I  
was especially kind to him; my tongue darted back and forth between both of his extremities.

  
I looked up past his clothed torso, and saw how red he was. His temples were showing, and the  
veins were throbbing, just like the ones in my hand. He thrust harder and harder, and finally, he let  
himself loose inside my mouth. I tasted his cum, felt it slide down my lips and down the back of  
my throat. I tasted the saltiness of the semen and found it to be delicious.

  
Smiling, I removed my mouth from him and kissed it. Chilton looked down at me and grabbed my  
arm, pulling me up to lie on his chest momentarily.

  
"Still think that coming was a waste of time?" I asked.

  
"Oh, hell. I suppose it wasn't for the worst. In fact, I can't wait to meet with you again."

  
Gripping his cock, I kissed his throat and whispered, "Good; I'm nowhere near done with you."

  
\--

  
I made myself look presentable and so did he. He left earlier than I did, and I feigned an illness.  
My heart was still palpitating, but I splashed water on my face and tried to pull it off as sweat.  
My fingers then gripped the perfume nozzle and I sprayed myself nonetheless. Hopefully Papa  
wouldn't sense what we did, and fortunately, I doubted he ever would. It'd be miraculous.

  
\--

  
"Eva? I don't understand where she could be."

  
The hoard of doctors were leaving. Each one of them had their dates for the evening, save for my  
dear doctor. He was standing at the staircase with Papa, talking, distracting him. I had put my  
shawl on and it seemed almost exquistely exposed, with my silk nightdress trailing down my lithe  
body; the black lace sat firm around my forearms, and I blushed, pretending to be ill.

  
I then heard Papa speak to me. "Eva! Where have you been, child?"

  
Such a fool, as usual. He couldn't tell whether or not vermillion was red, or red was vermillion.  
My father was simple that way, and I suppose, it was for the better. Still, I clasped my throat and  
tried to rub the pain away. Truth was, I was still sore from tasting Chilton. His cock was perfect,  
yes, but sweetness was out of the question; his size was awfully rough but still good.

  
I shook my head and shivered. Chilton saw this, and he motioned for the door. Our eyes caught  
sight of one another, and when Papa went to escort him out, I winked in a sultry manner. I also let  
my chest heave, up and down slowly, and for show, I rose my nightdress to my upper thigh.

That bastard--- he smirked and pretended to pay attention to my father's words enough to seem as if he  
cared. I wanted to flash myself and make him see that I still wanted him. With Papa's back turned  
towards me, I was able to flash my pussy for a second.

  
"Well," Papa said, "I thank you for coming, sir. I hope my daughter caused you no trouble."

  
I was about to shiver at the impression he was about to say, and I waited for the anticipated  
awkwardness. My hands clenched together and my toes curled. _Don't be stupid_ , I thought.

  
"Oh, on the contrary, sir," Chilton atoned, "I was most grateful to have come. Your house is  
simply amazing; your daughter, however, is completely docile. And besides, I wish you luck here  
in this town. The directors will be expecting you on Monday."

  
Just as the men finished speaking, I voiced an opinion aloud. "Papa, might I be able to obtain a  
position there at the hospital?"

  
The both of them looked at me and went blank in expression.

  
"Please, Papa," I said. "Might I be able to work there, too? I've always found the field of  
psychiatry fascinating. I promise: I'll be a quick learner and a good student."

  
Chilton piped up and said, "I think we could make an exception. There'd be a proper position for  
her as a secretary. She'd be away from the patients, you see, and up by the accounting ward. I can  
assure you, sir, she'd be properly safe. With your permission, of course."

  
Putting on my best face, I gave Papa a look that begged with utter desperation. I clasped my hands  
together and looked down a little, while still making contact. It was a perfect face, and I fancied  
myself an actress like Catherine Deneuve. Oh, how I wanted Papa to allow this!

  
And when finally I thought he wouldn't, he spoke and put out a hand towards Chilton. Papa, with  
a straight face and clear, unsuspecting mind, he said, "Well, I consent, Monsieur. She's under your  
care now. I will gather her work permit and arrange the situation with her school."


	5. Sanest Choices

I ran straight up to my room and found my diary, throwing it open and ravishing it pages with my  
black pen. My fingers twisted and formed words and letters which spoke together of how  
accomplished I now felt. It was as if something had awoken in me, and that threw me over the  
edge of happiness. Biting my lip, I blushed as I wrote down my new experiences of tonight.

  
_"Diary,_

  
_"I've done it. I've tasted a man and he's tasted me. He threw me down and ravished me, choking,_   
_biting, suckling; oh, the feelings of pleasure escalated all through my body and I can still feel it!_   
_He's a proper teacher, this I can tell._

  
_"Papa has granted me permission to work at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally_   
_Insane, and now, I will get to see my dear doctor. I shall take up the position of a student_   
_secretary! How illicit the play becomes!_

  
_"Papa is so foolish and so blind as to what the doctor and I shall do. Perhaps it's for the best that_   
_way that he does not find out, but I do intend to be fucked by this man. I've felt his shaft against_   
_my tongue, diary, and I can only imagine what it's to be like when he actually takes me for the first_   
_time. I'll bleed, of course. But again, what's passion without a little blood?_

  
_"Still, I must gather my work permit for the board to see, and Papa says he'll arrange something_   
_with my school; from what I can think of, I'll be working as Chilton's secretary on the weekends. I_   
_do not oppose the notion, but rather encourage it. And with the way things are playing out, I feel_   
_like the nymphet Lolita; she was the pride of her lover, his sin, the fire of his loins, and how I feel_   
_the same! Truly, my diary, this girl will soon be a woman!"_

  
I shut my diary after the ink dried, and I found the small, heart-shaped lock to clasp around the  
steel. With it locked, my father couldn't read my personal thoughts and spy upon me. I heard  
Leroux talking with Papa down the hall, and immediately, I threw my diary under my mattress.  
In silence, I tiptoed towards my door and put an ear upon it. There, I heard them speaking.

  
"Monsieur, I do not think it is wise to consider letting her go to this hospital. There are madmen  
there who would gladly hurt a young girl like her," Leroux said.

  
I cringed at the thought of Leroux's protest, and wondered how he thought his opinion would be  
significant. And when I knelt in the dark, slouching against my wall, I was careful not to make a  
sound.

  
"Nonsense," Papa retorted. "She will be under the supervision of the Chief of Staff. This Chilton  
told me himself that he would look after her. Besides, he said too that she would not be near any  
of his convicts and murderers; they are all locked up. Sacre Dieu, Leroux--- Eva will be properly  
safe!"

  
I lowly laughed at the men and their arguing. I was quite capable of looking after myself, this Papa  
knew; back in France, before we'd emigrated, I'd cut another girl who threatened to beat me with  
her books. Needless to say, she received twelve stitches and I was coached into a different class; it  
was so easy for me to play the victim when truly, I was the one who was bad.

  
\--

  
When Papa retired to go to bed, I ran into the other master bedroom, the one where Chilton and I  
had been tasting one another; the faint smell of his semen and my virginal fluids was still there. I  
could smell it on the large, king-size comforter and how I inhaled the scent, thinking as young  
girls do about their first time. I lay on the bed right where we were, and thankfully, there was still  
a little dab of his semen lying there, still somehow fresh. Like a little girl in a candy shop, I put my  
finger on the white and licked it off, just as I saw him do it with my own fluids.

  
I couldn't stop thinking about how tantalizing the flavor was. I think perhaps, that he had been  
drinking whiskey before he arrived; the faint burning taste of bourbon was still there, and I could  
smell hand lotion on the comforter, too. I had been right: he had been pleasuring himself before I  
met him yesterday, and so, I had known all along that he was lonesome.

  
But with me, I would make sure that he'd never be alone again. No, if I even had to endure the  
brutality of all his caged inmates, I would; I'd never leave him. Even more so, I'd do anything to  
prove it, too. While he seemed overpowered in swagger, I didn't mind it; I thought it gave him a  
roguish persona, one that only could be accepted by one such as myself.

  
I knew deep down that all the other directors thought him boring, thought him tedious--- but what  
the fuck did they know? I could feel my pussy aching, could feel how empty it felt. I wanted him  
so badly. Then again, in the faint dark, I thought of an idea. I could touch myself and still picture  
him between my legs. And I touched the hood of my clit, rubbing it hard, learning from what I'd  
seen as to how to make myself come without hinderance. Thankfully, the walls were rather thick  
and almost sound-proof. Not even the dead could hear of my cries.

  
\--

  
The next day at school, I met up with another like-minded girl. Her name was Camilla, and she  
was from England; truthfully whilst the English and French normally didn't get along, we seemed  
to be conjoined at the hip, mocking others and making oh-so-cruel remarks with long, aristocratic  
words to make the other "children" feel simple. And at lunch, we headed off to the gymnasium,  
where there was a tall set of bleachers hiding an extra back room, one where most went to fuck  
and smoke cigarettes, perhaps even drink. Calmly, we sat and began to talk.

  
"So, I heard it was your birthday yesterday," she said. "Congratulations, you're getting closer to  
bearing all the awful responsibilities that we eighteen-year-olds have to."

  
I lay back with my arm supporting me, as we lay on the cold, red floor. I smirked at her and felt  
something being pushed against my stomach; Camilla had given me a heart-shaped box, one  
which was thick and cushioned with fanciful red-velvet lining on the top. I arched a brow at her in  
contemplation.

  
Unlatching her case of cigarettes, she withdrew one and lit it carefully. From what I knew, the  
school sprinkler system hadn't been repaired yet, and here, in this backroom, many knew that she  
smell of smoke couldn't be easily detected. Still, I wondered what she was up to.

  
Taking a puff, she laughed and said, "Well open it, you priss."

  
I was eager and so, I tore the red ribbon and took the lid off, suddenly looking into the box for  
whatever contents it held. My eyes went wide and I blushed in an immoral manner. I dropped my  
mouth open in a large 'O' as I withdrew what was inside.

  
"What the hell is this?" I laughed.

  
Moving closer, she put her cigarette in her mouth and took the strange instrument from me. She  
used her fingers to pull the clamps apart and when she lay me down, she pulled my white-lace  
blouse down to demonstrate. I was at first outraged, and when I saw that she knew what she was  
doing, I allowed her to go through with it.

  
Exhaling, she said, "They're nipple clamps. A fun adult toy for those who are into unusual  
bedroom play."

  
I gasped as I felt the pinch on my nipples. Either clamp wasn't excruciatingly tight, but it felt so  
different; I shuddered as each one latched in a secure fashion. Camilla perked as I did and she lay  
beside me, now taking the cigarette between her fingers in her right hand. With her left hand, she  
used it to trail down into my skirt, beneath my panties and she started to play with me. My legs  
trembled and tensed, while Camilla leaned down and kissed my neck, still smiling.

  
"You are a deviant," I said.

  
"Yeah, I know," she said, inhaling and exhaling. "Then again, what're you to do when most the  
boys are repulsive in a school like this?"

  
\--

  
After our little 'session' in the backroom, we went to the restroom and returned to class. I went to  
History, and Camilla, that fruitful English bitch, went off to Psychology 101. I wished I could  
have traded places with her, but that was a junior's and a senior's class. I was still only a  
sophomore, as the Americans labeled their system. Whilst in the class, I kept looking out the  
window. I could see the hospital, and the many copper-red bricks seemed old and ancient.

  
I was repeatedly scolded for not paying attention, and when school let out, I began walking down  
the hallway; Camilla later joined me and together, we wrapped arms and went outside. I saw two  
senior boys standing there, both of them repugnant. One motioned with his hand, and he  
pretended to be stroking himself. The other one, however, shouted homophobic slurs at us.

  
"Hey, I didn't know we had dykes in the school. It must be pretty good being a muff diver," he  
laughed, his voice high-pitched, a mere whine.

  
Camilla broke from me and shoved him onto the ground. She was much stronger than she looked,  
but oh did she pack a powerful lunge. He fell onto the ground and the other simply ran.

  
She was resplendent with pride. "What, are you talking about your mum?"

  
I laughed at the foolish little boys as she did, and together, we locked arms again and we walked  
down the sidewalk. It was turning out to be a beautiful winter day, and with our skirts only faintly  
covering our thighs, the wind wasn't as harsh as I thought it'd be. Camilla started to start up a  
conversation again, and as I started down the street to the hospital, she gasped.

  
"What the hell are you doing in walking down that way? Don't you know what that is?"

  
"Oh, yes, I forgot to say it yesterday. My papa works there now. He's new and he was approved  
by the board of directors to take up a new position as the resident psychiatrist," I said. "And of  
course, I'm going to be starting there too, hopefully. I'll be a little secretary."

  
Camilla paused and looked at me, her eyes wide, her mouth dropped open as she laughed in a  
mock-tone. "Oh, and you expect to walk out of there each day without getting murdered? I've  
been here in the states for a few years now, and you wouldn't believe the kind of madmen they got  
stocked up in there. Lecter's the prime example. He's a cannibal, you know. _A fucking nut_."

  
"So I've been told."

  
For the rest of the walk, I was on my own. Camilla left to go to her hosting family, and she said  
she'd see me the next day. I obliged with her words, but she also handed me the little birthday  
present she'd used to demonstrate on me. Said that it wouldn't be proper of her to not give me a  
gift, she explained. Nevertheless, I took it and continued on. The hospital wasn't that far off.

  
\--

  
When I tapped on the entrance door, Barney Matthews approached and opened it again.

  
"Miss Sabatiér?"

  
Leaning on the door like a Playboy model, I bit my lip very slightly and put on a face that  
should've been one to win an Oscar. "Hello, Mr. Matthews. Is Dr. Chilton in today?"

  
Barney slouched a little and let me through. "He is, but he's speaking with your father."

  
"Good."

  
I walked in and playfully allowed myself to flex my buttocks for show. I'm sure Barney was  
looking, but he wouldn't say anything, for fear he'd probably be reprimanded. I then took the stairs  
and looked around. There was another office at the end of the corridor, and I saw that the door  
was cracked open. I heard them both speaking, but when I approached, I knocked.

  
One of them came towards the door, though I did not know who, and I saw one waiting for the  
other. Papa had been the one to open the door, and he seemed rather shocked that I was there.  
Nevertheless, I entered and passed to him my work permission slip from both my principals.

  
After carefully analyzing the document, he gave to Chilton and he, too, looked it over. From the  
way he darted over the paper with his eyes, my pussy clenched and I felt the distinct heat that  
reverberated from his body. I gave no sultry faces, as I did not want to give the game away. Papa  
waited as did I.

Chilton finally nodded and said, "Everything's in order."

  
"Very well, Monsieur," Papa said. "I shall bring her in tomorrow afternoon. I, however, will be  
out of town, as I have to go attend a conference. I trust that you will watch Eva for the time?"

  
Chilton nodded and my heart raced; my pussy was ringing with desire, was wet with lust and I  
wondered if he could sense how much I wanted him. I bat my eyes and he noticed the look.  
I truly couldn't wait until tomorrow.


	6. For Red Is My True Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Disclaimer: This pretty much applies the same as in chapter four. There are sexual themes, such  
> as fingering, cunnilingus, fellatio and vaginal sex; he takes her virginity in the chapter, and once  
> again--- this is a story, and I do NOT encourage this behavior; read with caution!]

Saturday arrived so fast and I bathed most luxuriously for the occasion. I took a spare straight  
razor and very carefully, shaved my pussy for tonight. The sharp blade scraped against my little  
folds, and as I sat on the rim of the sink, I looked across the tile and momentarily, watched what I  
was doing in the mirror. I smelled of roses and peonies, and my flesh looked so clean, so vibrant. I  
felt so fresh and when I was bare, I walked towards the mirror and did a little twirl.

  
I spun around and made sure my body looked presentable.

  
My lower back looked soft, and my ass sat firm over the showing lips of my pussy; the space  
between my legs was completely shaven. My thighs were so luscious and soft, and I still had soap  
among my breasts. I smiled at the young woman I was becoming. She seemed invincible, a  
powerful little papess, a young girl who was to graduate into a woman. I wanted to weep so.

  
I hoped that Frederick, as I remembered his name to be, would adore me, would worship me for  
everything I was. In my womb, I felt tremors coming. My labia flushed with blood, swelling with  
the excessive desire to feel his cock inside me. I bit my lip and swept my breasts clean of the soap  
suds, and to my right, I saw the new outfit that I was to wear. It was simply haughty.

  
I'd ordered some new blouses, and this one was red, a scarlet-red, with a plunging V-neck and it  
was silk; the pencil skirt was black, of course, and I felt myself to be the tempting Ligeia. After I  
dried off, I put on the clothes on, save for panties. I wanted to surprise Frederick with this, and  
hopefully, he wouldn't scorn me for it. But for the moment, I put waves in my dark hair. It'd match  
his, those soft waves, and now, with a swipe of red lipstick, I was ready for him.

  
\--

  
Leroux had dropped me off again at the door and I entered.

  
My heels clacked on the concrete steps and when I walked into the reception area, the sound  
echoed off the walls and I turned to walk to his office. As I passed the desk, it was mostly quiet.  
There was no one around save for the registration lady, and she seemed exceedingly tired and  
bored. Barney hadn't followed me, which was a shock. And so, I entered his office.

  
It was dark inside, save for a mere lamp on his desk; its light shone on his cabinet drawers and I  
saw him sitting in his chair, looking down on papers while trailing his gold pen on his lips again. I  
laughed aloud and that caught his attention.

  
"Miss Sabatiér."

  
"Dr. Chilton."

  
He looked down at me with a pair of gleaming eyes, ravenous as a wolf's pair, and he said,  
"You're earlier than expected, but I think it's worth the time. Come here."

  
I closed his office door shut and as the rain progressed outside, I dropped everything I had and  
walked over to him. I straddled his lap and began to kiss him, fervently. He latched his arms  
around my waist and with his strength, pulled me up closer, so that my pussy was right on his  
lower abdomen. My tongue pushed through his lips and he connected with me, and as we kissed  
with ardor, I saw my lipstick smearing his mouth. With a hard tear, he ripped my shirt down the  
front. Luckily, he only tore off the buttons and the fabric was not lost on me.

  
My fingers dug into the fabric of his awful checked jacket, and my nails slid across the pattern,  
just as he cupped my breast and moved his mouth to my throat. I was gasping and breathless. Had  
I known he would be so compliant to my wishes, perhaps I would have granted him more than a  
missing pair of panties. Still, he moved his mouth to my breast and he bit down harder.

  
I winced and fell onto his desk, my back catching my fall. "Frederick..."

  
He stood up and pushed me further onto his desk. His hands caught my hips and he unzipped the  
front of my pencil skirt. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it off of my body and there, he saw my  
shaven pussy all red and waiting for him. Frederick's blue eyes seemed predatory, and for me, I  
felt no fear of this situation. It was rape of a minor, yes, but God how I wanted him inside me.

  
He clicked his tongue and made a 'tsk,' and he moved a hand between my legs. He tweezed my  
clit and played with it, rubbing his thumb up and down the tender flesh. I whimpered aloud.

  
"Such a little slut, you are," he laughed. "But I have to ask: are you truly in tact, Eva?"

  
I replied instantly like an obedient child. "Yes."

  
Frederick patted my face and then knelt down on the floor. He dove for my pussy and began to  
lick it, harsh, unyielding; my tears finally spilled from the corners of my eyes and I discovered  
then the beauty of this rape. I thought to myself over and over again how stupid most believed this  
to be, even when both parties were consensual with each other. I loved the feeling of his tongue  
on my folds. In a second, he pushed his tongue straight into my canal and licked hard.

  
"Fuck!" I cried.

  
He slapped my ass then and scolded me, mumbling the words against my folds, against my clit.  
"Quiet, girl--- do you want the whole damn hospital to know what we're doing?"

  
"No..."

  
Flipping me over, I was face down on his huge, mahogany desk. He entered my pussy with two  
fingers, and over and over, played with it until I was nearly in tears. But just to make sure that I  
wouldn't make a sound, he stopped and went to get something. I felt famished from the touch, but  
it still felt so good. I looked over my shoulder and saw him open a cabinet drawer.

  
Turning around, I noticed that it was another adult toy, one of many which Camilla had told me  
about. It was a red ball, attached on either side with two leather straps. He spun it around on his  
finger for a moment, and he looked as if he were an old actor from a film in the 1930's. My pussy  
clenched again, and he saw this. He approached me and pulled my head back, putting the gag in  
my mouth. I was devoid of pity for myself, and thus, I wanted to please him so bad.

  
The leather straps had clicking slots on either end, and when conjoined, I was completely cut off  
from saying anything, and could only breathe through my nose. I looked over at him with my  
weeping blue eyes, and like a good girl, I waited for him.

  
"Good," he stated proudly. "Now there'll be no reason anyone to hear you; scream all you want. I  
guarantee that no one will know. Now, pull your arms behind your back and behave."

  
I did as he commanded. It was enthralling, this act was, but at the same time, I was terrified.

  
Perhaps this was the objective of this 'session,' so I complied. My arms went behind my back and I  
heard him undo his tie. He tightened it around my wrists, and happily, I couldn't move.

  
\--

  
After he finished tasting me, he removed the ball gag but still kept me bound behind my back.  
I'd had my first orgasm. It was so inexplicable, yet so timidly beautiful. I'd flushed his mouth with  
my fluids and he pat my head again, brushing the hair out of my face as he stood up. He knelt  
down and kissed me too, to let me know how he felt about my obedience. I could taste my pussy  
on his lips, and to me, it tasted so good and smelled like the floral wash.

  
"Eva," he said, pulling me up gently, softly, "I have to ask you something, my dear."

  
I leaned into his chest and rested my head against his; we were practically the same height, except  
I was just an inch shorter. He kept his mouth near mine and I whispered, "What?"

  
One of his hands cupped my throat and he kept staring into my eyes. Truth be told, I was more  
than frightened, but I was also so in love with him. He'd been the one I was looking for, and I  
hadn't expected to find one like him here, in America of all places. As I panted softly, he cupped  
my breast and planted kisses on my throat. I moaned gently and waited for his voice.

  
Finally, he said, "Might I have permission to fuck you and make you mine?"

  
In the manner he asked, I felt my clit swell with blood. The words slithered off his thin lips into  
my ear, and I shivered; the very way it entered my ear made me become resolved with love, with  
pain and fear of anticipation. With tears aligning my eyes, I nodded, though I couldn't speak to his  
satisfaction. All I knew was that I wanted him, so, I'd let him have me in the dark.

  
"Good girl."

  
He turned me to face him and he lightly pushed me onto his desk. This was something I hadn't  
seen of him before, and I was ultimately enthralled. With one hand, he balanced himself in front of  
me, palm down on his desk while his other hand unclasped his belt, unzipped his fly.

  
It was the moment of truth, and I knew there'd be pain.

  
When he finally unsheathed his cock from his hideous trousers, I leaned forward and kissed him.  
His lips merged with mine continously, and he rubbed his velvety tip against my slit. I spread my  
legs open and waited for the pain. He used his hand to undo the tie around my wrists, and with a  
natural knack, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

  
Frederick positioned himself at my entrance and put his hands under my thighs, just to where his  
thumbs gently cupped my buttocks. I kept kissing him and then, I felt it--- it was a sharp pain,  
twisting, contorting. I knew my hymen was ripping and that there was blood flowing out of me  
and onto him. He thrust out for a minute, and then pushed back in; the pain was excruciating, but I  
was close enough to withstand it. He kept us joined like that for a while.

  
Breaking from my lips, he said, "Eva, just breathe..."

  
I relaxed my muscles and nodded. I shuddered, my heart racing, beating; he kissed me deeply,  
locking our tongues again. He started to thrust in again, and my pussy reeled him in so deep, that I  
felt my cervix contracting with his touch. The blood started to slick his shaft, and I whimpered,  
whimpered as the pleasure was heightening with the pain. Frederick sat back down in his chair,  
and he began to guide me up and down, his hands gripping my hips with ease.

  
"Frederick," I gasped, whispering his name. "Please, it hurts..."

  
"I know, but in a few minutes, I'll let you have a taste."

  
I pushed him against the back of his chair, and began to slide myself up and down; my breasts  
were bulging at the top of my bra, and my pussy kept drawing him in. He slapped my ass once,  
and I came without stop. I felt my fluids roam down his shaft, merging with my blood. My tears  
soaked the front of my bra, and he kept a firm rhythm going until finally, he pulled out of me.

  
I fell to my knees and enveloped his cock with my mouth, licking and sucking until he'd came. I  
tasted his cum, and it flowed in deeply with my blood. The taste of salt and iron was ironic, and I  
eagerly tasted it. It was making me sick, but I didn't want to disappoint myself or him. As I  
finished drinking him in, he wiped my lips with his handkerchief and he pulled me back up.

  
"You felt so good," I whispered.

  
He chuckled as he slid back inside me. "From now on, you call me Daddy, alright? Nothing else  
unless I say so. Now come on, I'll take you home."


	7. Colours In the Dark

Papa had left the key under the mat, and when I ushered the key into the lock, Frederick was  
standing there beside me. I opened the door and we walked inside, although he had to help me in.  
I was still sore between my legs, my womb reeling with pain; with the way he had thrust into me,  
my cervix was throbbing. He latched an arm around my shoulders, and he held my hand. I sat  
down in the living room, whereas he left me for a while and made us both tea.

  
He carried in a tray and sat beside me on the sofa, putting a lemon slice into my cup. He had taken  
a blanket off the back of the nearby chair, and he wrapped me inside it. I drank the tea in a slow  
sip, and with a pair of innocent eyes, I blinked at him with a look that asked if I could lay on his  
shoulder. He nodded. I curled into his breast and made sure not to spill the tea.

  
"Thank you," I said.

  
He ran a single hand through my hair, curling my black waves through his piano-thin fingers. He  
gently pulled my head up to look at him, and we pushed our lips together. Frederick put my tea  
cup down onto the vanity table and he pulled me onto his lap. Together, he slouched down on the  
sofa and lay me on his chest. For hours we lay there, sleeping until the clock struck two.

  
\--

  
"So, tell me more about your past," he said.

  
As he bathed me, I sighed. I didn't know where to start, but I'm sure it'd be correct to tell it from  
the beginning. Just as he slipped the sponge over my back, he kissed my spine. I, on the other  
hand, cupped his arms against my breasts. He dropped the sponge and together, we sat in the  
wide, luxurious bath. I put my head on his shoulder as I started to speak.

  
"I was born in Val-du-Marne, France, and while growing up, I had a twin sister. We all lived  
together in this grim little chateau, and Papa was still a psychatrist then, too. My mother took care  
of us while he was away, but she liked to bring other men into the picture as well. She fucked  
them all beneath our roof. My sister Sophie-Marie and I could hear it all night long.

  
"One night, Papa found out about it and threatened to take our mother to the divorce court. It was  
a few days after that that everything had changed. She was due to be married to another man,  
while still divorcing Papa, but while our maid watched us, there was a storm that roared over our  
chateau. Lightning struck the east wing and a fire had started in the parlour. It spread throughout  
the whole place and it made its way to our room. Sophie-Marie was burned badly.

  
"She woke me up, screaming and I saw her whole bed on fire. She was scorched so badly that I  
couldn't even tell that she was my twin anymore. Papa entered and got me out, but when he tried  
to get to her, she was already dying and a beam of wood had fallen across her bed, pinning her  
down. In the instance of a second, she was killed; the beam had broken her body."

  
Frederick stopped kissing my spine completely.

  
When I looked at him over my shoulder, his face was eclipsed in horror. His eyes were wide, his  
mouth a straight line, and I thought to myself over and over again of what had happened.

  
"You asked, remember?"

  
"It was wrong of me to. Eva, I didn't mean to make you think of that."

  
I stood up in the bath and turned to face him. "Ah, but you did. Did Papa tell you about our life  
back in France, or were you just probing me for some information? Hmm?"

  
Now it sparked a reaction from him. "Eva, I honestly had no idea. I wouldn't have asked in the  
first place if I'd known."

  
I threw my head back and laughed, then I cranked it to the side and began to tear up. "You  
Americans--- I swear, you have no sense of decency or shame!"

  
In a rage, I left him in the tub and stood in front of the mirror, simply crying for what was running  
through my head. In the dark of the bathroom, the light from the window was the only thing that  
allowed me to see where I was going. I heard the water slosh, and he too left the tub, brazen in his  
nudity as he stepped up behind me. He wrapped his arms beneath my breasts.

  
With regret in my voice, I said, "I should kill you for making me talk about her."

  
"Eva, honestly---"

  
I retorted, "No! You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it does."

  
Now he grabbed me violently and turned me to face him. He pinned me up against the mirror, and  
his eyes seemed like glass, though at the moment, there wasn't any kind of visible life except for  
the sight of rage, of annoyance combined. I tried to fight him but he threw his body against my  
own and I couldn't move.

  
"Let me go."

  
"No," he said, pulling my breasts against his chest. "You need to let go, and I can make it all  
better. Eva, just let me help you. I promise that if you trust me, I can make your pain go away."  
It was truly a tempting offer. But then again, the fierceness in me spoke. "With barbiturates?"

  
Instead, he turned me to face the mirror and said, "No, but I was thinking more so like this."

  
\--

  
Before I could do anything, my face was against the pane of glass while he was pushing his cock  
back into my pussy. I gasped at the friction, and when he started to pump me hard, his hands  
gripped my hips, his balls colliding against the flesh of my ass. I screamed at his fury, and tried  
clawing something, though there wasn't really anything there to claw. In pain, I wept.

  
"Frederick!"

  
Clasping his hand around my throat, he growled, "No, remember? Call me Daddy."

  
I refused to be subjected to this. I wanted to fuck him yes, but with this imaginary play of incest,  
this falsified father figure fucking a girl who was truly old enough to be his daughter, I felt my  
pussy quiver. He groaned as he continued to push into me. His velvety tip ground at the junction  
of my cervix, and the pleasure-pain started to grow, started to heighten as I came.

  
The fluids swarmed down his cock and I could feel him grunting, moaning hard as he slowed his  
thrusts. He kept his arms around my chest, making my breasts bulge, and my nipples went cold at  
the touch of the cool linoleum. I felt my tears flowing, and now, he bit my shoulder.

  
"Fuck!"

  
His teeth were lightly biting me, then harder, just until I became wanton beneath him. To please  
him, I thrust my hips back against his and I trembled. His hand traveled between my legs, toying  
deep, strongly rubbing my engorged clit. The pleasure was rising to an awfully good height, and  
my pussy was soaking his shaft. My tears flowed until I couldn't cry more.

  
"How does my little girl feel?"

  
"Your cock, it feels so fucking good..."

  
He choked me with force. "What was that?"

  
I couldn't say anything. The pathways to my lungs were blocked, and as I looked in the mirror, I  
could see, through the faintness of the moonlight, how I was turning blue.

  
He loosened his grip and continued to pound me. "Call me Daddy, Eva. That's all I want."

  
His panting became aligned with mine, and I was so close to coming again. Frederick's lips found  
mine as he turned my head. And all the while, I thought--- I am his, and he is mine; my pussy is  
his, my breasts are his, and there's nothing in the world that I wouldn't do for him.

  
Just to please him, just to be a good girl, I called him what he wanted me to. "Daddy..."

  
\--

  
I lay on my bed with him again, and this time, I was keeping him pinned down.

  
He'd dried me off and cleansed me a while earlier, whereas he washed his cum off my ass. I saw  
the sponge. It was dabbed in lavender suds, and the sight of his ejaculate was prompt in the pores.  
It'd soaked in deep, and I wondered if Papa would ever figure out what had happened.

  
But I was content. I hadn't felt that way in years, and with Frederick, my new 'father,' I felt like a  
whole new person. True, he'd raped me just tonight, but I could still feel myself wanting him, still  
felt myself needing his cock. Some part of me wanted nothing to do with him, but the rest of me  
kept shivering, kept falling in through the reminder that I had just given him my virginity.

  
Like a dutiful little girl, I shied into his chest. I kissed his nipple and then his breastbone, his  
sternum and then his throat; everywhere there was flesh on him, I kissed it, for fear I'd never feel  
him near again. He woke from his small sleep and clutched me roughly against his body.  
"Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

  
I laughed lightly. "I can't; at least not with you lying next to me, Daddy."

  
Frederick's eyes darted to meet mine. He kissed me and slid his tongue into my mouth, warm and  
hot. The tip of his tongue danced at the roof of my mouth, and I felt my nipples becoming erect. It  
was fascinating, this was. This little session of rough sex, of actual lovemaking, it was all making  
me feel very grown-up. Gingerly, I began to kiss his chest all over. He smirked with pride,  
smirked with that familiar swagger others detested in him; I, however, found it so erotic.

  
"You are such a spoiled little rich girl, aren't you?"

  
I bit his nipple. "What gave it away?"

  
He slapped my ass and left a stinging pain in it. I could tell I'd annoyed him with my ignorance,  
with my back talk; but truth be told once again, it was worth it. In the dark, he raked his nails  
across the nape of my neck and brought my mouth to meet his cock. I'd choked on it once he  
pushed into my mouth, and thankfully, gratefully, I began to suck hard, harder until I gasped.

  
He bucked his hips hard and I couldn't stop sucking. My jaw was sore from his excessive grips,  
his brute force but I was loving it. My pussy ached, and as I sucked him, I reached down and  
began to play with myself. My nail clawed at my clit, and my pussy surged with pain, pleasure  
and blood. I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it was to have him as mine.

  
"My little whore," he teased. "Oh, I'm going to spoil you. Your idiot father won't have an idea of  
what we'll do, and I suppose that'll make for an interesting little game, won't it?"

  
Taking a moment to breathe, I replied, "Yes, and I'll give you my pussy, my soul, everything you  
ask of me. There won't be anything I won't do, and who knows? Knowing him, he'll do anything  
to appease me. Perhaps the old fool will die off and leave me all his money someday."

  
He flashed a grin at that! With a great pleasure, he pulled me up to sit on his lap, and with an acute  
precision, he impaled me on his cock. My labia bruised at the touch, but I loved it.

  
"Hmm. You are such a good, little creature. But tomorrow, I'll make sure that you receive the  
proper training from Gina. She's the file clerk and she'll show you everything there is to know  
about being a secretary."

  
I pat his cheek with a playful slap. "Don't tell me you schooled her."

  
He went silent and arched a brow. In a shock, I gasped and smiled, saying, _"You fucked her!"_

  
And in a peculiar sense, he shook his head. "Never. She only provided me a good peepshow here  
and there, but we never fucked. I was actually saving myself for someone."

  
I leaned back and like a pure exhibitionist, I allowed my breasts to show; he clamped down on my  
huge nipples, and with hunger, he mauled them as if he were starving. I smiled at his attempts to  
please me, and to reward him, I motioned myself back and forth, to fuck him further.

  
In a daze, I whispered, "Frederick, you'll be the end of me."


	8. World Without End

Papa had returned on a Monday, and while I was at school, I saw that Camilla was handing out  
secretive slips with information. It was only to like-minded people, same as she and I, but there  
were only a few who followed, as she described, the "unusual bedroom play." I was eager to see  
what she had, and so, I walked over to her and drug her into the backroom again.

  
While sitting up there, she wrote down a list of things, a list of people whom I could contact. But  
as she lit up a new cigarette, I tried to sit down comfortably enough to keep myself seem virginal. I  
tried sitting on my backside, then on one hip, but I had to lie down on my stomach, due to the fact  
that Frederick had torn me in so deep, that it hurt almost every time I sat down.

  
Camilla took notice of this. "What's wrong with you?"

  
I tried to make myself seem casual, but I ultimately couldn't. She noticed that I was in pain, and  
she arched a brow, playfully as she saw my panties were still a little bloodied, which had  
embarrassed me to no end. Camilla's eyes flashed wide and she started to laugh, chuckling.

  
"You finally lost your virginity?"

  
Famished with pain, I nodded. "Yes. It still hurts like hell though."

  
She took an inhale of her cigarette and passed it to me. I willingly took it and took a drag,  
allowing the smoke to lighten my senses. It filled my lungs and when I exhaled again, I let it slip  
out of my lips in a long, wary cloud. With this cigarette between my fingers and my hymen  
completely torn, I felt like an adult. A sore one, to be sure, but still an adult. I now felt divine.

  
\--

  
"Papa! I'm home!"

  
He hadn't answered me, so I deduced he was gone. It wasn't out of fashion that he did this, and I  
knew that Leroux was here alone too, because I could smell the fragrances of vanilla, of  
chocolate. Like a curious little girl, I ventured into the kitchen to see what he was making.

  
I cracked the door open and saw that he was slaving over the stove, mixing everything in a large,  
stainless-steel pan. The sight of strawberries and cherries were on the counter, and I knew what he  
was making: a fresh, glazed cake with vanilla-chocolate drizzle, topped with fruit.

  
"Oh, Leroux--- you didn't tell me you were making my favorite dessert!"

  
To surprise him, I rushed up behind and grabbed him; he almost dropped his whisk, but he caught  
himself off-guard. I laughed at him, batting my eyes playfully. I dabbed my finger into the drizzle  
that he was making, not even caring if it was hot or not. Leroux's eyes flashed at me, and he  
turned around to face me, as I unwrapped my arm from his broad, white-clothed torso.

  
"Petite Eva," he groaned. "You're going to ruin your supper."

  
Arching a brow, I mock-sulked. "Oh, please, Leroux--- don't tell me you're going to hold that  
against me now. Besides, do you know where Papa is? I haven't seen or heard him today."

  
Leroux seemed almost transparent to tell me.

  
"What is it?" I asked.

  
He sighed again and gave a little shudder, as I watched his whole body shake. "He's still at the  
hospital. Some patient named Lecter wanted to ask him something, I believe."

  
My mind wove in thoughts and memories of the conversations that Papa had with the directors.  
He was a cannibal from what I heard, one who ate his patients, his clients; from what I read in the  
papers overseas, he'd served a horrendous flutist to his own dinner party, and that was how they  
deduced he ate his fellow man. Not only was I horrified about Lecter's persona, but I heard he was  
so manipulative, condescending as well, especially to Frederick.

  
I hadn't asked Frederick about Lecter, as I didn't want to stir up any trouble. I figured it would be  
best not to. Nevertheless, I stepped away from Leroux and ran upstairs, towards my own  
bedroom, and I picked up the receiver to my dialer phone. I put in the number to the hospital, to  
Frederick's office, but I heard nothing. Inwardly, I was nervous. The tone rang and rang.

  
**_"Fuck."_ **

  
**_\--_ **

  
Later that night, Papa was still not home. Perhaps it was one hell of a lengthy conversation, maybe  
it wasn't. But no matter what, I wanted to check in on Frederick. To hell with my father, that  
lissome little worm. I wanted to see if my lover was alright.

  
He was all I cared about in this world, and my heart rang with deep expression and horror. If that  
cannibalistic bastard gave him reason to go off the bend, I would harm him most deeply. If Lecter  
thought it'd be wise, I'd assure him it would not be the most strategic move he'd ever make. And in  
the dark, I waited for just a little longer.

  
\--

  
I picked up the receiver again and dialed Frederick's office phone twice. On the third ring, he'd  
finally answered. I was relieved, I was jubilant; at least Lecter hadn't gotten him down yet.

  
"Hello?"

  
I answered him thoroughly, without hesitation. "Frederick, have you seen my father?"

  
"Yes," he said calmly. "He's down in the pit with Lecter, still. It's been a few hours. Tell me, Eva,  
why are you calling this number?"

  
_To see that you're alright, perhaps? Or to see whether or not that idiot I call Papa is to come home,_   
_so that he can properly show me the meaningful numbers to his safe before he dies? Or maybe I'm_   
_just calling because I am horrifyingly bored--- no, I'm calling because I love you!_

  
"I was just trying to check on my father," I lied. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

  
For a moment, I thought I had irritated him. He hadn't answered me right away, and that worried  
me. I was so full of self-hate at the time, so ardent to hurt myself. I wanted to whisper into the  
receiver for him to come here, to come rescue me, but he was away at the hospital, doing  
whatever he pleased. I put the receiver down just as he spoke, and I started to weep.

  
The tears were flowing down my face, and I felt a wreck. I clawed at my skin, at my breasts;  
everything that held flesh to bone, I viciously assulted with my protruding nails. I hated myself for  
nothing, and all for what? For now, I was in misery. I wanted nothing but Frederick.

  
As I waited, a storm came. Its thunder roared in over the house, and like a scared child, I flung the  
covers over myself and I waited for it to pass. The lightning flashed outside my window, and it  
reminded me of how Sophie-Marie died: fast, unyielding, full of horror and utter pain.

  
"Frederick," I cried, my tears flowing. "I want you to come hold me. I miss you..."

  
\--  
Hours later, I awoke to the sound of Papa's voice. "Eva, dear, I am home."

  
I didn't stir from my bed. I lay there with an awful, dissipated thinking of Frederick, which was  
riddled with thoughts of pain, hate and anger all combined into one. I wanted to confront him, and  
I knew that I would tonight. Still, I pretended to be asleep once Papa entered my room.

  
He stepped quietly over to my bed, and as the storm continued, I heard him sit down on the side of  
me. My mattress sank and my heart pounded. _Don't give the game away_ , I thought. _Don't let him_  
 _see your tears or the hate you bear for him. Let him see you're asleep, then go_.

  
"Alright, child," he whispered. "Good night."

  
Papa went out the door and shut it, whereas once I heard him walk down the hallway and into his  
bedroom, hearing the door shut, I threw back my covers and ran to my window. There, out of the  
corner to the left, I could see the hospital in all its ancient-looking abyss. It sat so still.

  
It wasn't that far away, only fifteen blocks perhaps, but I would go tonight. It wasn't fair of  
Frederick to have spoken to me like that, to have blown me off, but I'd be goddamned if he was  
going to get away with it. He wanted me, and so, he would have me, no matter the objection.

  
\--

  
Once I got there, I saw that all the lights in the building were off, save for one. However, it wasn't  
in Frederick's office, and that was what confused me. It was on the lowest level, and from where it  
glowed, I assumed that it was in the inmates' quarters, meaning that only Barney must have been  
there still. There were small windows, barred of course, but I was able to make out the passage  
where the cells were held. Barney was there, as I had thought, but was leaving. I ran to the front  
door and waited. The rain was soaking me, and I was now very cold.

  
My coat was absolutely drenched to the seams, my short nightdress only faintly damp. I put my  
hands under my arms and waited. Once Barney came to the door, my heart became desperate. I  
went up the top step and panted, my lungs aching, burning. I coughed once and then looked at  
him.

  
"Barney, where's Dr. Chilton?"

  
He seemed confused. I hadn't the time or the inclination to play games, and so, I stepped forward  
and clasped my wet hands onto his white shirt. "Barney, where is he?"

  
Stammering, he replied, "Dr. Chilton went home, Miss Eva."

  
I shook my head in disbelief. "Where does he live?"

  
"Miss Eva---"

  
"Please, Barney, it's important!"

  
I removed my hands from him and put them back under my arms, shivering, shuddering. It was  
from both the rain and fear that I was cold, and I needed only find Frederick, to put these wrongs  
to a right. I wasn't well, and I knew that my only solution was the psychiatrist's touch.

  
"Fine. He lives at 1310 Sangreal Avenue. It's about an hour from here."

  
I embraced Barney once and nodded. "Merci."

  
As I turned to leave, Barney caught my arm once. He looked at me with a pair of concerned eyes,  
which were frought with unease, saying, "Be careful around Dr. Chilton, Miss Eva. He may not  
look violent, but he's manipulative. He likes preying on you. I hope you'll see that."

  
\--

  
The taxi, even at the late hour, was willing to take me to Frederick.

  
Once there, I saw that his house was similar to mine. It cast the same appearance almost, and I  
knew it was built in the same time frame, making it old and rather beautiful. I walked up to the  
side door, where I rung the doorbell and knocked on the hard wood. It would be dawn in two  
hours, and I hoped people wouldn't have thought me to be a deviant looking to burglarize him.

  
For a minute and a half, I continued until I heard his familiar voice.

  
He opened the door, saying, "Whoever the hell it is better have a _damn_ good reason for waking  
me up in the middle of the night. I'm not particularly in the mood--"

  
I put my hand in the doorway and said, "Frederick, we need to talk."

  
"What the hell are you doing here? How did you get my home address?"

  
I shook my head in the cold. "That's not important. What is important is that you let me in and we  
talk."

  
He seemed utterly aberrant. He held a look of desire in his eyes, one that burned, and it made me  
shiver; with one hand, he reeled me in and slammed the door shut, once again pinning me down  
onto the floor. Frederick's hand ripped my coat off and he, with all his hard, bruising strength, tore  
my silk nightdress in half. My pussy and breasts were exposed, all for his taking.

  
He noticed my pain and said, "My, you really couldn't bear to be away, could you?"

  
"No," I said, my voice breaking. "Now rape me."


	9. Games of Chance

Frederick lay me on his bed, wrapped only in his robe. I was warmed now, after he'd fucked me,  
but still--- a part of me felt incomplete. I allowed him to kiss my nipples, to bite them and bruise  
them, while I felt his fingers between my legs, playing with my clitoris. I was aghast with tears.

  
"You're not mad at me, Daddy?" I asked.

  
He stopped and looked at me. "Now where would you get that idea from?"

  
I hadn't hesitated in answering him. "Tonight, when you spoke to me on the phone. You sounded  
so irritated and I thought I'd done something. I didn't really interrupt you, did I?"

  
Now he pulled his cock out and pushed into me. I winced at the sudden pain of him entering, but I  
stilled nevertheless, to let him adjust to me, vice versa. With his pelvis sinking atop of mine, I  
wrapped my legs around his waist, to let him sink in deeper, deeper until he hit my womb. Each of  
my muscles clenched and almost shook violently. In an instant, I began to cry.

  
Frederick took notice of this and tried to kiss my tears away. I motioned my head to side as I  
denied him. With one hand, he cranked my face to meet his, my lips merging, locking with his  
own as he kissed me fervent and hard. I felt the veins of his cock pulse against the fleshy confines  
of my pussy, and I threw him down beneath me, using my weight to shift his around.

  
My heart wrenching, I said, "I am really yours, or am I just a plaything?"

  
I moved my hips back and forth, my buttocks rising up and down as I glazed his shaft. He put  
both hands on my hips, squeezing. I felt my heart surge and I wanted it to stop. Frederick's eyes  
were closed, and so, he couldn't look me in the face. I jerked on his cock hard, to tease and hurt  
him all the same. He groaned and bit his tongue in suppression. I saw his pain form.

  
"You know you're mine. Besides, remember what you said? That I have dominion over your soul,  
over this little cunt? Come on, Eva--- you know how much you mean to me."

  
To further prove a point, he tweezed my clit between his index finger and his thumb, which I  
painted wet with my fluids. The sharp intensity ran through my whole body, and as I fucked him,  
both ruthlessly and with love, I saw the storm roaring outside still, louder, quicker. Out of fear, I  
pulled him up and wrapped my arms around his neck, burying his face into my breasts.

  
"Then leave with me," I offered. "Let me kill my father and we'll take all his money."

  
He stopped fucking me and with a single jerk of his chin, he rose his face to look me in the eye.  
"That's murder, Eva, and I don't think you'd like being in prison with a bunch of rapists,  
molestors, muggers and homicidal freaks. I think we can wait until he dies naturally. Only then  
will it look more presentable to our cause."

  
I shoved him down while his cock was still inside me. "You're acting like you're afraid! Isn't it  
more opportune though, that I be the one to finally kill the man who's always held me back?  
Please, make a flight plan for anywhere. Let it be Switzerland if you like. I just want to be rid of  
that mentally-challenged bastard and be yours. Please, Frederick; don't let me down, please."

  
"Eva, it's not that simple. Your father may seem slow, but deep down, you know he's not that  
ignorant. He'll eventually find out that we're together, and then he'll report me to the police, or  
worse, the F.B.I. He'll make up some wild story and say that I was raping his daughter all along,  
but in reality, you would probably say it was out of love. Trust me, Eva--- we have to be careful.  
People aren't as stupid as they used to be, sadly."

  
"But I love you!"

  
Now he pouted as I did. "I know you do, and I feel the same for you too."

  
"Then say it."

  
"Eva..."

  
I started beating on his chest, my tears flowing fresh and my fists hard with hate. "Tell me! Tell  
me that you love me and that you won't abandon me. Please, Daddy. I don't want to be alone."

  
He lay me down now and pinned my wrists in one hand, cruel and unending. He began to fuck  
me without remorse, and I wept into his face, his lips touching mine, same for his tongue. His hips  
slammed against me, and I heard the wetness of our sexes entering the air. I played with his balls  
and moaned loud, gasping, trying to breathe for as much as I could. I felt so exquisite.

  
"I love you," he finally said. "I love you, Eva, and that's the brutal truth of it."

  
\--

  
I lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly, while Frederick showered in front of me. In the openness, I  
sat on the rim of the tub and watched the water slide down his body. The riplets seemed like  
rivers, the conditioner like his merciful semen--- everything that rinsed his body I wanted to  
baptize, to make sure it was the holiest of waters that slid down his pale, middle-aged body.

  
His cock, swollen and red, dangled between his legs and in the sight, I blushed maddeningly.  
As he stood underneath the sprinkler head, he studied me. He saw how my nipples became erect,  
and how I sat against the back of the wall, displaying myself, my pussy--- that which he loved so  
much. In a timid fashion, I took another inhale and allowed the smoke to leave my lips so haughty,  
in an amatory disguise. He smirked at me in return, but I was feeling vulnerable.

  
"We need to make a decision," I stated.

  
"About?"

  
I gave him a scornful look. "About my father, Frederick. Let me finish him, like I said. Let me do  
this, and we'll be together through hell and high water. We'll live off of all his money and lavish  
ourselves like the hedonistic couple we are."

  
He knelt down in the tub, careful in his moves. He followed more so with kissing my nipple,  
biting it. In a rage, I carefully snagged his hair with my hand and pulled his head up to look me in  
the eye. I swear he winced in pain, but I didn't care. I wanted his full attention, undivided.  
"We need to talk about this, Frederick."

  
Through gritted teeth, he groaned, "Eva, this is impossible. Your father will get onto what we'd be  
up to, and if you or I slip loose some information, we're dead. He'll report us, have me tried as a  
rapist and you'd be disowned, bound to never inherit his fortune whatsoever. If we want to do this,  
it'd be best to hire a professional. I myself know someone, and perhaps they'd do the job well.  
He's awful expensive, and I don't have the cash to give him because I'm in debt."

  
I rolled my eyes and released him. I threw him back and he slid down onto the porcelain, almost  
hitting his head. In a fit, I put the cigarette on my hip and my flesh singed, burning with a little  
pain. He snared my wrist and knock the stalk out of my fingers. This was so un-fucking-believable.

  
I wrenched my hand away and I stood tall, high and proud. I was so utterly mad.

  
"Stop being afraid! You don't care about me! All you care about is running your little sanatorium  
and making sure Lecter stays under your thumb. Don't you know though, that if we do become  
exposed, that I'd do anything to make sure you'd stay safe? Please, Frederick: you have to believe  
me and worship me as I worship you. I only want you in all this horrid world."

  
"Goddamn it, Eva," he roared, lunging out of the tub. "You're acting like a child! I'm only trying  
to explain to you the natural consequences of what you want to do. If you kill your father and do it  
wrong, you'll be caught. You'll be tried as an adult and shipped off to the worst prison, and even  
then, I wouldn't be able to save you. Understand?"

  
I fell against his naked figure with my own and started to weep. "I don't care. Only you matter."

  
\--

  
When I returned home, Papa was standing at the dining room table with a glass of Chardonnay in  
his hand. He was lighting the candles, and I knew that was yet to be another 'special' occasion. He  
didn't usually have the antique crystal glasses brought out for nothing.

  
"Papa, what is this?"

  
"Ah, ma chére, we are having a guest over tonight! Your procurer, Dr. Chilton, will be having  
spirits with us," he said, his chest strung out with valor. "So make ready, he'll be here soon."  
I went deathly pale and felt extremely nauseous.

  
 _He had invited Frederick?_ My lover, my master--- he who had taken my virginity and tasted me  
underneath this very roof? My pulse quickened with fear. I nodded and put on a nonchalant face,  
while in reality, my pulse was well over 85. I hoped Papa wouldn't take notice, and so, I went  
upstairs and immediately dialed up Frederick, in both a panic and in a red-hot rage.

  
The receiver rang and rang, until finally he picked up. "Hello? Chilton here."

  
With venom masking my French accent, I growled, "You pious, old, spineless son-of-a-bitch!  
How could you not tell me that Papa had invited you here tonight? We'll be exposed!"

  
Perhaps he'd known that I'd find out, hence the reason why he was acting quiet and calm. He  
finally muttered into the phone and spoke with a careful selection of speech.

  
"Eva, you have to be calm about this. If he finds out that we're together, it'll only make it worse.  
You must play the dutiful hostess to me and that's it. We can't flash each other any kind of looks  
tonight. Your father and that chef of his will obviously find out, then we'll be fucked. Do you  
understand? I didn't want to accept the invitation, but your father was so persistantly annoying  
about it. Please, don't go into a fit. I'll see you in a few hours, amour."

  
I quirked a brow at his sudden use of French. "Have you been studying my language?"

  
He laughed on the other end. "Quite honestly, no. It's only what I remembered from my days at  
school. Besides, I thought I'd appease to my girl's heritage. I hate to hang up, but I have to go. It's  
nearly an hour from my house to yours. Like I said, don't have a fit. I'll see you in a while."

  
I muttered into the receiver quick, crying soft, saying in a child's tone , "I love you, Daddy."

  
And truly, he surprised me. "And I love you, little girl."

  
\--

  
When he arrived, I did as he asked of me. I made no loving faces, no smiles except for what was  
needed, and he walked inside, passing me his coat. It smelled of me, somehow, and I knew that it  
was my rosy perfume. How he came to be adorned in that scent, I had no idea, but I hope that  
Papa wouldn't have deduced that it was mine. With a plain face, I hung his coat up and escorted  
him into the dining room, without contact or prompted speech. It was so difficult.

  
Papa put a hand out to Frederick, my dearest love and my future accomplice, all the while he  
never noticed anything. We all sat around the table and began to sup, the French cuisines warming  
our mouths and the Chardonay rinsing it all down. My fingers could barely hold my fork, because  
I was so lovesick, so broken that I couldn't express my feelings openly for him, my Frederick. As  
he and Papa arranged themselves in conversation, I glared at Papa with hate.


	10. Waves of Paranoia

The next day at school, the Monday chill had caught my flesh and riddled it with bumps; it was  
unusually cold, and even though I put on my thick coat, I was still frozen to the bone. Camilla was  
already at school, and she sat inside waiting for me, her eyes glued to mine wildly.

  
"Oi," she hollered, waving me over. "Come here! I want to talk to you about something!"

  
I rolled my eyes and felt fatigued from the weather. These Baltimore winters, I thought, would  
ultimately be the end of my child-soft skin. Thankfully, because it was so cold outside, the  
luncheon ladies were serving hot chocolate, which warmed me right away. They said they'd had  
too much, so all the students were able to have as much as they wanted; I was on cup four.

  
Camilla was on her sixth, and as she sat in the cafeteria with me, we sat alone, secluded.  
Moving closer to me, we sat arm to arm. Camilla began a fruitful little talk, and I obliged.

  
She smirked with utter curiosity. "So, who is he?"

  
I almost choked on my chocolate. "What?"

  
"Your lover, you priss. Is he tall, dark and handsome, or short, fat and hideously annoying?"

  
I gasped and blushed, my heart racing. My fingertips played with the Styrofoam cup, sliding along  
the side, and as I sat it down on the benched table, my finger swirling in the chocolate. I bit my lip  
and as Camilla lay her head on my shoulder momentarily, I finally spoke out.

  
"I can't really say. It's too embarrassing."

  
"Well, give me details as to what he looks like at least!"

  
But I couldn't. It'd give Frederick away, would give me away. It'd be the worst thing for me to say  
what he looked like, and if Camilla had even the slightest notion of who he really was, I would be  
in for a world of pain. Camilla waited for an answer, but really, I couldn't even make a lie that  
would seem realistic enough. However, I pointed to a 'jock,' as the Americans said with their  
slang, and she followed my finger, watching the direction where it went. She scoffed loud.

  
In an uproarious laugh, she said, "You mean to tell me that you're playing go-to with that? Dylan  
Richmond? He's a fool! He's not even fit enough to polish your heels, girl."

  
It was a try, one that she would have to accept. I loved Camilla, adored her for her valor, her pride  
and all that, but if she dared to find out who I was with, I would undoubtedly murder her.

  
\--

  
When I arrived to the hospital to work, that Gina character was nowhere to be seen. It was  
strange, and when I saw Barney, he was walking downstairs to the patients' wing, to perhaps  
make his daily rounds with the inmates. I didn't think nothing of it at the time; I was just more intuned  
to finding Frederick. Through the corridor, I was approaching his office, when then I heard  
something coming from behind the door. It was panting, labored panting--- and that worried me.

  
In my stomach, I felt a twinge of fear. It was a rising pit, and it sat in my throat.

  
I didn't want to wait anymore.

  
I dropped everything I had in my hands and when I opened the door to his office, which was  
locked, I had used to the key to jar it open. My fears had come true. There he was, standing  
behind his desk, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her from behind. She was face  
down, and violently gripping the rim of his desk. It bulged forward a few inches, and as he fucked  
her hard, fucked her with doubt, he rose her face to meet his, kissing her with passion.

  
My eyes watered and I started to cry.

  
He broke the kiss between them and he flashed me a look. His blue eyes went wide, and Gina,  
that red-headed, doe-eyed bitch, gasped and said, "Stop, stop!"

  
Frederick murmured my name with fear, "Eva?"

  
My hands were trembling; I'd never felt like this before, and it reminded me of the times when I  
heard Mama fucking all those men under our roof. My skin was riddled with goose-flesh, and my  
heart, my legs felt weak. Turning, I started to run away. I didn't wait to hear an explanation, nor  
did I care. I wanted that cunt dead. How dare she fuck Frederick, and how dare he fucking lie to  
me. The rage I was feeling combined with that wrenching sensation of heartache.

  
"Eva! Eva, get back here!" I heard him scream, rushing me. "Eva, let me talk to you!"

  
I was becoming psychotic. I felt the intense urge to harm myself, to throw my pale young body off  
the roof of the hospital. Perhaps I was feeling suicidal because of what I had just seen. My breasts  
heaved against my chest, my pussy becoming bloodless. When I heard Frederick come up from  
behind me, I turned around and did not wait. My flat palm hit the side of his face, and I struck as  
hard as I could, with as much force as I possibly could muster. He started to bleed.

  
" _You fucking cunt_ ," I screamed. "How dare you! How dare you!"

  
Time was flashing before me, my eyes reeling, my head rolling. There was so much to take in,  
that I couldn't even remember my own name at the moment. Sweat cleansed my brows, my chest,  
and my lungs felt like they were on fire. Frederick caught me then, and he wrenched me into his  
office. He was reeling me in like an anchor, and Gina, that hideous bitch, ran past us.

  
"We need to talk," he snarled.

  
I wished Barney would save me, would reprimand this molester, this awful beast, and how I  
wanted to die. My legs collapsed and he had to carry me, bridal-style, into his office, into that dark  
where he was fucking his accounting lady. My fingernails clawed at his face, and I drew blood  
from there too. He recoiled from fear and dropped me. The floor broke my fall and I tried to  
escape, running. However he caught my ankles, and like in a horror film, I was drug inside.

  
The door slammed shut and Frederick's face was wild with hate, wild with fear, with anger. I hit  
him again, and this time, I bust his lip open.

  
Crying, I wept, "I fucking hate you! You said you loved me and you lied to me! I thought we  
were supposed to be together, but obviously you fucking lied. How could you lie, Frederick?"

  
"You were never meant to see that..."

  
I kicked his groin, and watched him flounder onto the ground beside me. He didn't lay there for as  
long as I thought he would, and he caught me again, this time ripping my dress down and  
attacking my panties. With a powerful lunge, he threw himself atop of me and strangled me. I took  
a long gasp, and tried to breathe whenever I could.

  
"Frederick, please!"

  
\--

  
With his cock still out, he spread my legs apart painfully, and he entered me, though my pussy  
was wet and warm, his violence strongly frightening and arousing me. I was ashamed to have felt  
this cock inside me, but then again, my pussy wanted to feel this abuse.

  
He thrust hips against mine and he powerfully started to fuck me.

  
He threw me onto his desk and lifted me, grinding himself into my pelvis. I was in tears. His size  
felt awful, but beautiful; he, in a fit of passion, grabbed his letter opener which was sharp and  
gleaming, brightly in the lamp light. That horrified me beyond a doubt and yet, I was in yearning  
to feel the blade against me. Frederick took the small instrument and slit a small nick in his throat,  
and like Dracula to Mina, he shoved me hard to his person, making me drink his blood.

I, in a combination of horror and desire, drank until I was sick from the iron.

  
His lips grazed mine and now, I felt like an ancient, tantalizing vampire. As his life-force flowed  
into my mouth, I sank against him and wrapped my arms around his neck. Frederick, with whose  
blood and libido calmed me, sank deep into my pussy and ground hard, harder until I came around  
his cock. My fluids baptized his phallus, blessed it with my soul, and I felt alive.

  
For truth, this was rape-turned-love. My arms felt weak as did my legs, and when I removed my  
mouth from his neck, I kissed it and swept the messy waves of hair from his face. I was still  
feeling suicidal from seeing him fucking Gina, but right now, I was in love with him.

  
I was forgiving him with my small, tight pussy, with my heaving breasts and my lithe body, and I  
wanted to become one with him. If there was ever such a way to merge bodies, I would become  
Frankenstein to do it. Perhaps I was mad, but then again, who wasn't? I was more than willing to  
make amends with him, and so, when he slid out of me, he smeared his cum on my stomach. It  
was a beautiful display, like an artist with his paints. I swept the semen to my lips.

  
"Better now?"

  
I looked up from my fingers and into his eyes. I licked them clean and replied. "No, and yes."

  
\--

  
After that session of hate-love, of rape-to-bliss, he was soothing me. He kissed my forehead and  
was driving me home, but to be safe, I told him to drop me off around a corner, just a few blocks  
away from my house. We still couldn't give ourselves away, not yet.

  
"I'm so sorry you had to see that."

  
The woman in me felt resistant. I didn't want to answer him, but as I put my head on his shoulder,  
I felt obligatory to speak to him. Through glittering eyes, my tears fell as he stopped the car.

  
"Frederick, I'm going to try to forget what I saw tonight. But I swear-"

  
"Eva," he murmured, turning to face me, "I never meant for you to see that, nor did I mean to hurt  
you. Please believe I'm sorry for all this."

  
"You were fucking her when you said you loved me. Can't you see the problem in that? But I  
swear, if I ever fucking catch you with her or any other woman besides me, I promise you this: ** _if_**  
 ** _Lecter ever gets out, by chance, you best hope to hell that he finds you before I do_**."

  
The look of fright hit his face. His blue eyes were strictly with fear, with inward panic, and as I  
escaped his car, only to walk through the blistering freeze of the night, I felt him watching me as I  
walked from him, my tears now staining my cheeks, warm and then freezing to my cheeks.


	11. Deep Dark Ocean

I went to work yet again, I kept a vigilant eye on Frederick. He didn't move to where I couldn't  
follow, except the mens' restroom, and he kept trying to please me; he said there was something  
else he wanted to show me after work. I didn't think much about it; yet, I still didn't trust him. I  
wanted some absolute closure about the man, and so, I'd go to the imprisoned one.

  
\--

  
Frederick left for a few hours, as he had an appointment, which I found to be true; he'd had a card  
from his registered doctor and it was legit. And while he was away, I went to Barney to exchange  
a few words. He was in the orderlies' lounge, having a cup of coffee. He and the other orderlies  
were talking until I walked in. I stood there in my fashionable blue, silk coat and stared. They took  
notice of me, and without question, stood and walked out, save for Barney.

  
He went to the door too, but I stopped him.

  
"Hello, Mr. Matthews," I quipped. "Might I ask you for a favor?"

  
He seemed perplexed, confused; there was great dismay in his eyes. Barney cocked his head to  
the side and made a clenched look with his lids. I bat my eyes tenderly, softly in a slow rhythm,  
and he took notice of this. Finally, he sighed.

  
"What's the favor, Miss Eva?"

  
With a distinct calm to my voice, I said, "Lecter. I want to talk to him."

  
It was as if I'd struck an ominous chord with my asking to see the cannibalistic psychiatrist. The  
whites of Barney's eyes went wide, eclipsed with an exclusive worry. He stammered like a child.

  
"Miss Eva, you ain't got the slightest comprehension of what you're asking. If I let you see Dr.  
Lecter, without Dr. Chilton's supervision or knowledge, I'd be fired and so would you."

  
 _Oh, my friend, you don't know about me and Frederick, do you? No, without me, he'd be nothing;_  
 _he needs me. He won't have anyone to love, to torture with his body unless I'm here as his_  
 _personal girl. Like I said, without his victim, the abuser is nothing_ , I thought to myself.

  
"Miss Eva, I just can't. It's against protocol."

  
I rose a brow rather cleanly. "Against protocol, or because you don't want to see me in danger? I  
can assure you, Barney, I am quite capable of looking after myself."

  
He stirred and said, "I don't doubt it, Miss Eva, but if you come off as rude to Dr. Lecter, I'm sure  
there'll be something about you he'll find that needs discipline. Please, he's dangerous if you ain't  
careful and courteous around him; he'll sit like a spider does, waitin' for the little fly."

  
He finally must've realized that I wasn't going to go without a fight. I had kept my hands in my  
pockets, watched him with my steel-cold, blue eyes, and as he sat his coffee down, he came to the  
back of the room and motioned with a hand, telling me to follow. My heels clicked on the cold  
linoleum and we began to walk down the stairs, taking lefts until we came to the patients' wing.

Barney saw that I was determined, but that didn't stop him from explaining procedure.

  
"Now, don't pass anything sharp or small to Dr. Lecter, unless it's staple-free papers and folders.  
Don't go up to the glass, don't antagonize him, none of that; if he wants to show you something,  
fine, but don't accept nothing from him. He's mighty tricky, but if you're polite, he'll pass you off  
as a 'decent piece of meat,' as he likes to say sometimes. Weird, I know, but you'll be fine. In this  
little room, there's a television hooked up to the cameras. I'll be watching you."

  
I nodded in response. It was enthralling, to finally meet Frederick's prized asset. Of course, he was  
a sadistic madman, a monster who enjoyed eating human organs, but I was still unafraid.

  
In front of me, a gate of steel bars slid open, and it shut hard, the bars thudding within the confines  
of the brick slot. Barney went into the little control room, and when I entered, the gate shut behind  
me, locking as a buzzer went off. Slowly, I walked to the last cell on the left.

  
\--

  
There was a steel chair at the end, sitting quaint and unfolded just three feet away from the glass,  
which I noticed had breathing holes on top of the large panes and below. I began to scan the cell  
for its occupant, and found him to be lying down on his bolted-up-and-chained cot.

To my eyes, he was an older man, perhaps mid-fifties, and he had slicked down, grey hair with a large nose,  
thin lips and a shapely body; he was brawny, yes, and I knew he was full of spirit. Dr. Lecter  
opened his eyes, though his head faced me and his feet were the other way.

  
"Might I ask who you are?"

  
Carefully, I spoke. "Hello, Dr. Lecter. I'm Eva Sabatiér. Might I be able to speak with you?"

  
Then instantly, Lecter sat up on his cot and turned to face me. When our eyes met, his seemed so  
predatory, cold and uneasy like a fox in winter; he studied me with a calmness I'd never seen  
before, and he stood, approaching the glass with his hands at his side. I felt my pulse race, but I  
didn't show fear. He roved my body and face with those eyes, and then he smiled.

  
"A French girl," he atoned. "I haven't heard a vintage accent like yours for a very long time."

  
With the kind of smile he wore, one would find it all over: it was one full of twisted charm, one  
able to claim ease and disguise. I smiled faintly, but he smelled me, leaning towards the breathing  
holes of the glass. Oh, God, this was what he liked to do to members of the opposite sex; he liked  
to calculate their fear, drink it in. He liked to make them feel so uneasy, so that he might guess the  
rate of their pulse. I wanted to run, but cowardice did not become me.  
  
With a satisfied look upon his face, he looked at me again. His eyes were calm, cold and precise,  
as if they were measuring me, somehow. I stood my ground and kept my plain, youthful girl's face  
upon my person. The tips of my fingers went cold, as did my breasts, my legs and arms; there was  
a whole new toxicity at work here, and somehow, I was enjoying it.

  
"Is there something you wished to say, dear?"

  
I engaged in conversation. "Oui, Dr. Lecter. I was perhaps wondering if you could please tell me  
all that you know about Dr. Chilton."

  
That perplexed the doctor intimately. He rose a brow over one eye, and as he put his hands behind  
his back, gripping them together as if he were a gentleman, I saw him laugh with a haughty  
intention. "About him? Of course, how can I refuse. Sit, please."

  
"Merci."

  
Lecter leaned against the frame supporting the glass, with a grandfather's tone, he began:

  
"Oh well, where to begin about good old Frederick? Let's see for a moment. Firstly, he enjoys in  
creating petty enviornments for his patients of all things, trying to make these boring, half-  
attempted facades of mindly torture. Secondly, he'll try to degrade, but he can never succeed. He  
hasn't the motor skills to be tactical enough to do so. He's a failed practicioner of threats.

  
"And from what we hear down here, the Chief of Staff," he emphasized with sarcasm, "has quite  
the frivolous intimacy span; he's incompetent and he has a timed orgasm of about five minutes into  
his sessions of coitus. But I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

  
My heart felt as if it stopped beating completely. Sweat clung to my brows, and my veins  
throbbed, as if they were all hardening, all on fire. In a coarse voice, I said, "Excuse me?"

  
"The penalty for raping a minor here in Baltimore, if I remember right, is a fifteen-year sentence,  
but for you, maybe you'll be reprimanded to a juvenile facility. Your Frederick, on the other hand,  
I can't say that he won't be murdered in prison. But it's a pity; you seem so prime."

  
Now I was fucking furious. In an out-lash, I retorted. "Dr. Lecter, I do not want to offend you in  
any way shape or form, but you don't know him like I do. You don't know what he's capable of.  
He's raped me, yes, but only a few times. And of course, there's been times when he's gotten  
violent. But you know what? I'm not a little girl here. I can handle myself, I'll have you know."

  
As I turned to leave, he stopped me with his casual admittance of words. "Miss Sabatiér, you  
responded rudely. I was only trying to make a general evaluation, that's all. Besides, you came to  
me for information, remember?"

  
I approached the glass, whereas I heard Barney coming through the gate. The buzzer rang and the  
gates slid open. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw men in white coming. Before I could thrash at  
Lecter, could try to pound the glass, Barney and another man came and caught me. Their arms  
took mine, and immediately, they began to pull me away. I was screaming at Lecter.

  
"I only asked you to tell me all you knew, not about what you assume!"

  
He made a few 'tsk' sounds, and with calm valor to his tone, he quoted Blake before I was gone:  
" _A robin redbreast in a cage puts all Heaven in a rage_. Ta-ta, Miss Sabatiér."  
\--  
When I returned home, Barney hadn't mentioned anything at all. He had called me once, but that  
was to see if I'd gotten to my residence safely and in one piece. I said yes. However, someone had  
told Frederick, because when I went upstairs after dinner, the phone in my room rang, rang until I  
desired to pick it up.

  
He was furious with me. He spat on the other end, "Are you completely mad? You've riled up  
Lecter; now, he won't stop making retorts about our relationship. How could you tell him, Eva?"

  
I pursed my lips and held my glass of wine in a free hand. Taking a sip, I said, in another  
arrangement of Lecter's words. "He already knew. He told me today that he could hear you  
whenever you were fucking me and Gina, both on seperate times. Is this true, that he can hear our  
every act of passion, Frederick?"

  
"Of course not! There's... there's no possible way for him to hear anything. He's in that dungeon  
of his, and that's where he'll stay until he dies or until I deem him fit for transfer, which, I can  
assure you, will never happen; it's most likely he'll shrivel up. But, damn it, Eva--- you're setting  
us into something we can't escape."

  
I laughed almost maniacally into the receiver. He is a fool, just as the director said. But he is my  
fool, mine to control, to fuck, love and torment altogether; he may do the exact same ritual to me,  
but I know who's the fairest. Still, as I swirled my glass, I couldn't help but smile. And when Gina  
came to mind again, my heart palpitated with dire anticipation. My pussy clenched with the  
thought of violence, with the sight of needles, scalpels and wine in my blue little eyes.

  
I knew then what I'd become as I hung up my phone.

  
For the first time, in my whole sixteen years, I'd become my own avenger, and avenge myself I  
would, for tonight, Gina's death would be the only thing to give me true peace and closure.


	12. To the Victor Go the Spoils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Disclaimer: Severe torture takes place; genital abuse is heavily featured. Read with caution,  
> readers, as this has graphic content! There are subject themes of mutilation and sadism, too.]

It wasn't hard in finding her house, her phone and tracking her down. The hideous slut lived in a  
quiet suburb, along with a husband nonetheless; she drove a slate-gray Buick, and her simple  
house was made of old, amber-coloured brick, and decorated grotesquely with heaps of bushes  
and flowers beneath the windowsills. I'd been waiting for over an hour for her husband to leave.

  
He'd been there with her, and through the window of Leroux's car, I saw them argue.

  
In the bleak of the cold, I saw both of them, through the over-sized bay window, screaming with a  
few indistinct words. She was recoiling, and then, he hit her; his hand slipped over the side of her  
face, a proud victory for him I was sure. In my stance, my pussy became electrified by the sight of  
this spousal abuse. Gina screamed through the glass and faintly, I heard it.

  
My labia flushed with blood, and as I lit a cigarette, I saw him slam the door open, yelling as he  
began to leave. I'd shaded the windows and sunk down into my seat. Luckily, he didn't see me.  
When he revved out of the driveway, I sat back up. Gina, as I now saw, was sobbing like a girl.

  
\--

  
A few hours later, I'd drove away and then swept back around the terrain, careful as not to draw  
attention. I didn't have the headlights on, and the purr of the engine was soft; I'd be a phantom,  
swift and true. There'd be no other way for me to do this, and when I saw the lights of the  
neighborhood shift lowly, I exited Leroux's car and made my way to the red backdoor.

  
I didn't go unprepared though.

  
Oh no, I had bought a few things, to make for my kit. First, there was a stethoscope, one I would  
use to listen to Gina's erractic heartbeat; the second, a scalpal: sharp, true and ice-cold. I'd only cut  
her so much before the end, and finally, for the créme de la créme, the piéce de résistance: a handmade  
kit, full of needles, bandages, yarn and of course, a few little toys to abuse the bitch with.

  
My heart raced, but I held that same smile on my face; I was rather eager.

  
My left hand carried a bottle of wine, and on my part, there'd be enough to go around, literally.  
The first wave of attacking her brought back the rush of adrenaline.

  
I'd assaulted her with my fist to her jaw. It was already bruised by the contour of her husband's  
professionality, and I could see the indent of his knuckles upon her bone; the flesh there was cold,  
clammy and soaked with tears. She fell to the floor and tried to fight me, but before she could run,  
I'd thrown her down, pinning her with my weight. The feeling of hatred raced within my veins.

  
The bitch beneath me writhed and screamed, weeping as I unsheathed a small knife.

  
"Don't move, you cunt," I said.

  
Gina's face seemed paralyzed with fear whilst mine gleamed with radiance.

  
Between my legs, I grew increasingly wet. She'd aroused me, just to the point where her tears  
became my lecherous lividity. I bent downward and kissed her tears away, to confuse her. In this  
manner, she'd be completely exposed, vulnerable even. I then took a hand and wrenched her  
wrists together, tying them with brute force. Gina choked on her spit and and tried to leave.

  
She'd kicked me between my legs, but, thankfully, I was gifted with some things most men only  
dared dream of having: balls. I mustered myself through the pain and hit her again, this time to the  
point of unconsciousness. Like a fish, she lay there, limping, twitching; my lips sneered into a curl  
and I withdrew my scalpel, slicing her clothes off, seam by seam, thread by thread.

  
\--

  
When she awoke, we were in her basement.

  
I had found some chains in the garage area, as they called it, and put her on a cold table which she  
used to iron her clothes. On the table, she was naked and exposed. Her nipples were erect and her  
large breasts, which I'd bound with rope, bulged outward, turning purple; her clit was showing  
too, and her pubis had been curled with great extent. To me, she seemed like a whore.

  
Her cunt seemed so used, so contracted and expanded. The folds of her labia seemed folded over,  
expired and utterly useless; I wondered how Frederick dared to go near her. With a doe's eyes, she  
looked around until I began to pour wine on her face. The redness splattered with a beautiful  
stream, soaking her bloated, tear-streaked face. With sadism on my lips, I laughed.

  
"You're an impotent slut, aren't you? Fucking the man I love, whilst your own is sick of you. I  
suppose that if I had to wake next to you, I too would want to leave all the same. But you know  
what? I forgive you, and to show you how merciful I am, I'm going to let you in on my secrets."

  
Gina's lips were trembling. She looked like a frightened girl, as I thought before. Tears soaked the  
pores of her skin, making her seem like a filthy scrap. In the restraits I'd used on her, her wrists  
and ankles turned purple like her breasts. Her nipples, pointed wildly, were blue as silk.

  
In a fit of rage, I continued to pour the wine on her face.

  
And as she gagged, as she choked, my lips were forming words and I spoke altogether.

  
"It felt good to me, to know that when my mother left, she left her teachings of whoredom behind.  
I followed suite, this you know; you can ask Frederick about what we've done. It also felt good to  
me to humiliate my father in front of others. But it feels so good when I fuck Frederick. I love to  
feel his fat cock inside me, in this little girl's pussy. Perhaps this was meant to be, that he was to  
rape me and turn me into something I've always aspired to become."

  
_"You're fucking insane!"_

  
I chuckled. "Perhaps so. But doesn't it feel good though, what I'm doing to you now?"

  
With my fingers, I took her expanded clit and began to tweeze. I twisted rough, and tugged  
upward, grinding the fingernail of my thumb into the tender flesh. Gina continued to cry, a  
weakness really. She mumbled incoherent words as I tweezed on harder and harder each time.

  
Frightened, she cried, "Fuck!"

  
"Good whore," I cooed.

  
However, this wasn't what I had dreamed of last night. No, my dream was so much more violent, so  
entangled with the webs and thoughts of blood. As she was spread open by a spreader bar, she  
flushed my fingers with her fluids. Ah, now she was beginning to like it. Perhaps some part of her  
was like me: a whore for pain, a mewling piece of flesh for whatever she truly desired.

  
Then again I couldn't think that. She was nothing like me.

  
I smiled at her again though, and quietly, withdrew something long, silver and sharp. Gina saw  
this underneath the light of the basement lamp, and she almost screamed; however, I subdued her  
and gagged her, the ball sitting firm in her mouth. Her eyeliner was smeared and she shook.

  
I took the scalpel into my hand, and tenderly, swept it back and forth on the outer folds of her  
labia, slicing carefully; blood tinkled down her skin and onto my silver instrument. I felt like the  
Countess Bathory, only I was making this slut atone for what she did, for what she had done to  
wrong me. Gina sniffled and screamed, though muffled it was. And just to tease her with the  
intent of cruelty, I began to cut onto her clit. It was not numbed, and so, she let out a horrific  
sound, of whatever she could muster. The little piece of flesh finally fell into my hand.

  
"See, aren't you beautiful," said I, sweeping the severed organ against her face. "So lovely."

  
Blood stained the table. I was now the proper conqueror, the queen of flesh and the procurer of  
utter horror. Beneath me, Gina trembled and wept, violently. She was in pain, this I knew. I had  
severed her clitoris, and how useless she was now. She'd never appear beautiful to a man ever  
again, and I felt more than justified in my grasps to torture this useless, flamboyant whore.

  
For now, I had dominion over her. The ill-minded, beautiful girl I now was flourished into a  
woman, a woman young, a woman proud and triumphant, created to rule the worthless pieces of  
flesh from all walks of life. If I hadn't become the fairest flower that I ever saw, I don't know who  
I'd be. I knew, though, that as my scalpel ran across Gina's throat, that Frederick was mine.

  
\--

  
Hours later, I disposed of Gina's body after finishing my way with it.

 

I hadn't the urge for necrophilia, but instead, I carved her into a beautiful sculpture. I fashioned her  
as the Venus de Milo, with impassioned features of Aphrodite; I improved her face with my  
cosmetics, and ultimately, I was pleased with the result. Her eyes were closed, her lips red with  
rouge, and her cheeks were lined lightly with blush. She had no full arms anymore, and only a  
white cloth covered her lower half. Her breasts were adored with her own blood, her nipples  
swollen and lustful, even in death. From the sight, my pussy fluttered with longing.

  
I snapped a Polaroid to keep for later. I knew I'd never let Frederick see it, lest I'd become a little  
exhibit in his own madhouse. I'd kill all others before permitting that, but mostly, if he'd asked me  
to, I would comply. There was always something about him, since we met, that compelled me to  
die for his every wish, as I said I would. Though I wanted to continue this art session, I had to get  
rid of the body. Nevertheless, I threw her into the basement furnace and mourned the piece of art I  
had just destroyed.


	13. Bound By Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Disclaimer: There is strong incest in this chapter. Eva is sexually assaulted by her  
> father, which gives her further reason to hate him. I wanted to give a proper warning.  
> Read at your own risk, and again, thank you for reading.]
> 
> [Face claim for Eva's father is actor Udo Kier, one of the best bastards to ever grace  
> the screen. Sorry, but he seemed perfect for this role.]

My fingers were still stained with the scent of Gina's blood. I pretended myself like a vampire,  
smelling them, licking. It was a disgusting thing to a normal, untainted mind, but to me, this was  
victory. I'd destroyed her body just hours earlier.

  
For Frederick's sake and mine, I'd disposed of her. She fucked him, and he fucked her; there was a  
boundary crossed, and my heart raced with utter madness at the mere memory of seeing her  
beneath him, her legs spread open, her face bloated like the fat opening of an obese woman's. It  
was cruel to compare, but it was true.

  
As I lay there in the porcelain tub, I stained my body with the blood of Gina. I'd drained her with a  
medical pump I'd stolen weeks before, and so, I lay there in all the quarts of her blood. It smeared  
my breasts, made my nipples a dark ruby red. I thought myself to be like the Blood Countess;  
perhaps I was bisexual in nature, and how I wanted to align myself with the murders of more  
victims.

  
\--

  
When I returned, Papa was sitting in the parlor, drinking away at an expensive bottle of  
Chardonnay. His mouth was grazing the rim, lapping at it like it was a saucer of milk. I often  
compared him to be a kitten-like welp, and so, it was opportune to see him like that. He hadn't  
seen me, but I knew, that no matter how carefully I stepped, that he had heard me.

  
"Eva, my pet," he said, "I was waiting for you."

  
Like the adolescent I was, I replied, "But Papa, you worry too much."

  
From birth I compared to Adonais, the failed, sorrowful experiment, and transformed into the  
beautiful Ligeia. And with age, I was becoming experienced. I was turning into a new woman. I  
could fuck a man with my ambition, and then mold him to suit my needs. I was a psychic vampire,  
and this, this I had gained from Mama.

  
But as the fire crackled, he stood up and began to waddle over towards me, stumbling. I could  
smell the stench of that faint whiskey on his breath. He wasn't one for that type of alcohol, but that  
wasn't stopping him. He rushed me and pinned me down, my coat becoming ripped in the  
struggle. Papa's weight shifted over my own.

  
_"Papa, what is-- Papa, please stop!"_

  
"No," he screams, wine spilling from his lips and into my mouth. "You've embarrassed me for far  
too long, mon amour. It's time you were due for a punishment."

  
In a fit of passion, of rage, Papa threw me down harder and took off his tie. He sat me up quickly,  
then struck me; blood welled in my mouth and as I was sinking in and out of consciousness, he  
wrapped his tie around my wrists. I struggled and cried out.

  
"Papa, please! I'm your daughter!"

  
He no longer cared. He unsheathed his overt prick from his robes, which had the sight of pre-ejaculate  
on its tip. I shuddered and shook. He was going to rape me, this I knew. He was stinking  
of alcoholism. He hadn't attempted this before, but now, I was the only female in the house, the  
only one whose womb he could claim as his own, as his flesh and blood.

  
Finally, I felt him. He spread my legs open and he imposed his prick inside of me. It swelled  
inside me, my walls clenching, desperate to try and get him out. He motioned his hips at acute  
angles, thrusting with hard pressure and seething hatred.

  
My breasts were moving up and down in a swift lunge. My flat nipples were becoming erect, the  
fascia beneath becoming cold. My pussy was warm and now permanently disgusted; it suckled  
him within, and my eyes were filling with tears. Papa pulled me up then and balanced my weight  
on his thighs. He pounded into me with an emotion of great hate. He then, drunkenly, moved  
closer and kissed me deep.

  
"Papa," I growled, my mouth burning from his, "I hate you; that you could do this to me!"

  
"It's what you've made me become, my beautiful, little whore. You've become like your mother.  
She did the same thing to me, too, and she fucked her way into the world and died like a  
concubine. I'm sure you'll die the same way."

  
For the next five hours, my body became bruised. My labia, both the inner and outer lips, became  
swollen, bloodied; my cervix was aching. He'd hit me too, and there were bruises all across my  
jawline. Papa had been ruthless with me. He'd never came inside me, but he did make me drink it  
in; he made me take in his own semen.

  
He'd forced me to suckle on his phallus, to fondle his balls as he took his pleasure of me. When  
finally he passed out from the excessive alcohol, I deduced it was from poisoning. He lay there in  
front of the fireplace on his side, and I was his warmer. He was still inside me, sleeping atop of my  
chest. I was crying softly to distract myself.

  
\--

  
Hours later, he retreated from me.

  
I, on the other hand, raced to my room and called Frederick.

  
"Frederick," I said, softly crying, "I need you. I need you to come as soon as possible."

  
He mumbled into the receiver, "What happened now?"

  
It was hard for me to say anything. I couldn't find the strength to say the words, and I felt the  
receiver shaking in my hand. My eyes watered and my lips trembled.

  
Finally, I sputtered, "Papa raped me."

  
Frederick was quiet. He didn't say anything for a while. It frightened me, made me angry and  
worthless; I hoped he wouldn't change his mind about us, but now, I heard him speak with ardent  
concern.

  
"Eva, I will send Barney for you. He'll be sitting inside my car, right down the block from your  
house. If you can do it safely, sneak outside and reveal nothing to no one."

  
"No, you must come! I won't wait for your correspondent. I want _you_ here, Fred."

  
The reasons for my rape were due to my father's excessive drinking and stupidity, and that  
frightened me beyond all doubt and belief. I wanted Frederick here beside me to show how we  
were together, and how he was the one who had taken care of me the whole time.

  
"Eva..."

  
"Frederick, don't make me regret our relationship," was all I said.

  
For a moment, it was silent. A minute later, he spoke again before hanging up. "Very well. I'll  
come, but only as a concerned employer. He still can't know about us, do you hear? If we're  
discovered, we're both dead."

  
\--

  
In the hour leading up to midnight, Frederick arrived and knocked on the door. I looked outside  
my window, and saw that he stood there in his awful, mid-grey twead suit, his hair blown back  
from the stormy wind. It was raining profusely, the rain beating and thunder roaring; the lightning  
flashed and as Papa opened the door.

  
"What are you doing here, Monsieur Chilton?"

  
I raced down the stairs and in nothing but my nightdress. It fluttered behind me, the chiffon  
sinking against my nudity. I gripped the mahogany railing ever so tightly.

  
"I'm here to take her to the hospital," Fred said, his face blank.

Papa scoffed. "Monsieur, it's nearly midnight."

  
What a fool-- he was under the impression that Fred meant the mental hospital, but I knew what  
he meant. Papa looked at me, then to Frederick, then back at me again. I hadn't even needed to  
stand close beside my lover, and he scented us immediately.

Papa lunged and struck Fred in the face. The weight of Frederick's mullet swarmed around his  
face, now wet from the rain. In anger, I ran over and wrapped my arms around Papa's chest,  
pulling him off. My nails tore into his flesh, which became red from slicing deep down. Frederick  
came after him too, and together, we threw him down. I struck Papa over and over again, then  
with all my rage, clawed at his face.

  
\--

  
"Frederick, go to the kitchen, and grab me that fucking knife."

  
My veins were full of blood that boiled with wrath. The energy and adrenaline mixed, my  
hormones flowing with the need to kill again, but Fred stared at me blankly.

  
"Eva, are you serious?"

  
As I bound Papa to a chair, I used rope, soaked in kerosene, to make sure he would not run. The  
smell was strong, and just as beautiful as gasoline. I looked back to Fred and said, "Obviously.  
Now please, grab that knife and give it to me."

  
He was resistant. "You're mad, Eva! I ought to have you in my hospital as a permanent inmate!"

  
I threw my head back and mockingly laughed at him. "So says the man who rapes his sixteen-year-old  
secretary!"

  
He seemed defensive of that statement. With a grim look on his face, his eye twitched and he ran  
into the kitchen, swiftly grabbing the knife. He passed it to me, but with the blade facing forward.  
I gripped the silver and slit my palm, blood flowing.

  
"Thank you, my love," I said.

  
And before Frederick could object, my hand switched the blade to the handle and I ran the silver  
across the middle of Papa's throat. Only, I didn't slice innocently. I began to grind, began to  
literally saw into the interior that was his cricothyroid muscle. I slit into that, and heard how he  
began to choke violently. I was so delighted with myself that I then traveled down to mortally  
wound his trachea.

  
In the darkness of the room, within the fine, sweet moonlight, the blood appeared to be quite  
black. Its viscous touch smeared my fingers and I smiled, grinning like a female devil who  
accomplished so much in so little time. Frederick, who stood there appalled, still said nothing and  
flashed me a look that he was about to vomit.

  
"Mad, you say? Oh, Frederick, my sweet innocent fuck," I said to him, "I'm just getting warmed up."


End file.
